


Zombie Park

by crocodile_queen



Category: South Park
Genre: Craig of the Dead, F/F, M/M, Zombie AU, blood and guts and all that fun stuff, cotd, cotd au, ships and characters to be added as story goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-06-26 18:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 46,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15669108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crocodile_queen/pseuds/crocodile_queen
Summary: When Craig, Tweek, Stan, and Kyle go on a weekend camping trip in the woods they don't expect to be attacked by hordes of the undead. They venture back to South Park only to find their beloved mountain town overrun with brain-hungry zombies. As the boys desperately search for survivors they have to fight to stay alive, grapple with teen romances, and try not to kill each other, all while trying to figure out just what the hell happened?Just another apocalypse in South Park.





	1. Enter stage-left: Zombies

**Author's Note:**

> My take on tuckerenthusiast's Craig of the Dead AU. The pairings, character appearances, and weapons are all taken from them. The set-up and plot is all my own. I hope you like reading about teenagers fighting zombies!

“I think we should break up.”

Craig’s marshmallow dripped off his stick, into the campfire. He stared across the fire at Tweek, who was turning his own marshmallow round and round in the flames.

“Really?”

His voice came out croaky and sounded far-away to his own ears. Tweek didn’t even look at him as he spoke.

“Yeah, I, uh, don’t think it’s gonna work out.”

Craig sat on his log long after the fire went out and Tweek had vanished into their tent. They had sat on that very log last night, huddled under one blanket, grinning as Stan told some shitty ghost story. Tweek had laid his head on Craig’s shoulder and it had been great. All of them sitting around that fire together, the night sky spread out above them like the whole universe was centered on that moment. It had been perfect.

What had happened?

Eventually Craig threw his stick down and plodded over to one of the two tents they’d pitched in the clearing. He ripped the flap open, cutting off whatever Stan and Kyle were talking about.

“Move it,” he said to Kyle, nodding his head to the outside. “I’m sleeping here now.”

“Uh-“ Kyle’s ‘uh’ seemed to ask all the questions— _Why? Aren’t you sleeping with Tweek? We wordlessly agreed on all of this yesterday_. “No.”

“It’s my tent,” Craig said, stepping inside, “and I say, move it.”

Kyle glared at him but rolled his eyes and stood up. He made sure to bump Craig’s shoulder on his way out. “Fine. What’s the matter, Tucker? Get some taffy in your braces again?”

Craig fell down next to Stan, who was looking very confused. “Fuck off.”

Kyle gave him a snarky smile. “If anyone needs me,” he bent to pick up a roll of toilet paper, “don’t.” Then he zipped up the flap, his footsteps crunching off, into the trees.

“Dude,” Stan began, “what the hell? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Craig laid down on the sleeping bag Kyle had vacated and pulled his cap down, over his eyes.

It had sounded like fun when Stan suggested it; just the four of them camped out in the woods for the weekend. A nice break from midterms.

“Plus, everyone’s getting all sick,” Stan had said. “Maybe we can avoid the plague.”

Craig had been hoping it would also be a nice break from all the drama, so they hadn’t told any of their extended friend groups. No Cartman to stir up shit, no Kenny to set off illegal fireworks, no Clyde to cry about a splinter in his toe. He’d wanted to bring Jimmy but if he told Jimmy than Jimmy would tell Token and then Token would tell Clyde and then Clyde would tell everyone, and pretty soon the entire grade would be camped out with them. So, no, he’d only invited Tweek and Stan had only invited Kyle. And the four of them had gotten up at the crack of dawn, loaded all their stuff into Stan’s dad’s truck and driven out of town like a bunch of criminals sneaking off. All that to avoid any drama.

_That turned out great_ , Craig thought bitterly.

“Hey.” Stan’s voice broke him out of his reverie. He looked up to see Stan holding a deck of cards. He smiled at Craig and waggled the deck. “Wanna play poker?”

Craig raised an eyebrow. “You know how to play poker?”

Stan’s smile faltered. “I was kinda hoping you did.”

Craig rolled his eyes and shook his head. He gestured for Stan to hand over the cards and once he did Craig began explaining the rules. Pretty soon Stan got the hang of it and they were betting Kit-Kats.

Over the years the clique divides between their groups had lessened. It had started with Craig and Stan, who had, for whatever reason, grown to be friends. It extended to Kyle and Token becoming study buddies, then Tweek and Kenny were hanging out, and pretty soon Jimmy was extending movie invites to Butters. So yeah, their gangs had kind of melted together.

They were on their third round of poker, Craig with quite the sizeable pile of Kit-Kats, when an ear-splitting scream cracked through the campsite.

_Tweek._

Craig was on his feet in an instant, Stan right behind him, grabbing the shotgun his Uncle Jimbo had leant him. Craig slashed the zip open and stumbled out, into the brisk night air. Tweek was fending off a hobo with the axe he’d brought to chop firewood. He swung the axe in wild, un-timed arcs. 

“Get back!” he shrieked. “Go away, damn it!”

Stan fumbled with the gun but Craig didn’t hesitate. He grabbed up one of the smaller uncut logs and threw it at the man. It hit the guy in the head with a wet crunch, caving in the side of his face. Craig’s stomach dropped to his feet as the guy slowly turned to him. The log was lodged in his eye socket, blackish blood leaking down his mottled skin. His jaw was unhinged, hanging open and revealing a rotten lump of meat nestled amongst rows of cracked, yellow teeth. He raised a shaking hand and Craig gasped; the grey skin had peeled back to reveal bone. Bone that was a foot from Craig’s face-

A crack loud enough to send Craig’s ears ringing blasted to his left and a second later the decaying hand exploded off the man’s arm, sending chunks of rotten flesh flying. He spun around to see Stan gasping behind the freshly fired shotgun. His blue eyes were blown wide as the man looked to the stump of his arm then looked back to Stan. Something in those milky eyes shifted and then he was charging, surprisingly quick, right at him. Stan raised the shotgun but his hands seemed to be shaking too much to pull the trigger and the guy lashed out at him with a guttural roar that caught and gurgled in his throat. He clawed at Stan’s face like he was trying to scrape out his eye and Stan fell back on his ass with a cry.

Craig fisted his hands in the man’s jacket and hauled him back before he could descend on Stan. As the man turned to him Craig held up his own useless hands. He glanced about him, looking for some kind of weapon and finding none.

The man took one lumbering step toward him when Tweek tore past Craig with a war cry and swung his axe straight down on the man’s chest. It landed with a sickening crunch, the axe head sliding halfway through his torso. The man stared dumbly down at the axe head embedded in his sternum. Tweek pulled it out with a wet sucking noise and swung again, this time at the man’s head. The blow fell between his eyes, splitting his skull open and causing whatever final light there was in his eyes to go out. It fell limply to the ground like a bundle of sticks and didn’t move again.

Tweek stood over the man, his shoulders rising and falling with his heavy breaths that steamed in the air. Craig thought he would drop the axe and collapse but Tweek’s hands stayed curled around the wooden handle so tight his knuckles turned white.

“Oh, my God,” Stan murmured. His voice wavered on the edge of tears. “You killed that guy.” He was staring at the corpse with the kind of horror that sent you to therapy for the rest of your life.

Tweek snapped his head around to glare at Stan. “He was- _ngh!_ \- gonna kill you!”

“What’s wrong with him?” Craig asked, staring down at the thing. He wasn’t dressed like a hobo. He was wearing a woolen coat and quality-hiking boots. Just looking at that he appeared like any other camper. He turned back to Stan and Tweek, who were also gathered around the body. “You think he had some crazy disease?”

Before either of them could answer the sound of hollow moaning had them spinning around. More men were shuffling out of the woods, coming towards them. Just like the dead thing at their feet, they too had skin ripping off their bones and chunks of their bodies missing. One man had a huge gash running across his neck, exposing the cords of muscle at his throat. Another was hopping along on one leg and one guy had his entire jaw missing, his tongue lolling like a ghastly pendulum from his neck. All had the same distant, animalistic haze over their eyes.

Craig stood frozen to the spot. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t blink as they slowly waddled towards him, the space between them shrinking by the second. _This isn’t real_ , his brain whispered. _This can’t be real_.

He almost jumped out of his skin when a hand locked around his arm but it was only Tweek.

“Come on!” Tweek yelled, pulling him away. “We have to get out of here!”

His insistent tugging flicked a switch in Craig’s head and his feet kicked into gear. He waved to Stan to get up and followed Tweek as they ran from the clearing and onto the dirt path, leading back to the road.

“Wait!” Stan shouted, skidding to a stop. “ _Kyle_. He’s still back there.”

“We’ll get to the truck, then worry about him.” Tweek continued racing along the path. “Now, come on!”

Craig had to physically drag Stan with him to get him moving again. They crashed between trees, their footsteps thundering on the ground. They finally burst through the thick copse of pine trees, onto the flat stretch of dirt that made the road. Craig looked up and down at the collection of RV’s and minivans parked next to the woods but there was no sign of Randy Marsh’s truck.

“Where the fuck is it?” Stan’s panicky voice demanded.

He tore at the hair under his beanie and his breathing sounded high and reedy. Craig wanted to go pat him on the back and tell him to calm down when he wondered if any of them even had the keys.

He was stopped from voicing this unpleasant thought when a woman stumbled out of the trees in front of them. Craig was about to ask her if she had a car when she looked up at him with glazed white eyes. His unspoken words shrivelled up and died in his throat. Tweek’s arms shook as he held up his axe. The woman took a jilted step towards them, a low moan issuing from her throat-

And that was as far as she made it.

A truck roared along the road, ploughing straight over the top of her. It halted with a screech of its tires and the door flew open. Kyle stuck his head out, eyes wide and crazed and his hair even crazier.

“Get in!” he yelled and they all scrambled.

Tweek dove in the passenger side door and Craig and Stan jumped into the pick-up tray. Kyle took off with a squeal. As they drove along more and more lumbering bodies began to appear. They drifted out of the woods, from between cars, onto the road, no doubt attracted by the sound of a running engine. There were families, men, women, and little children, all with decaying flesh and open wounds dripping dark blood. Kyle didn’t slow down for any of them, running them over or sending them flying over the hood. The tires bumped over their bodies, sending the boys bobbing in their seats.

“Dude!” Stan ripped open the back window and bent down to yell at Kyle. “What the fuck happened?”

Kyle tore around a corner, almost sending Craig flying off the side. “I was peeing when this guy came out of nowhere and tried to take a bite out of my head. I had the keys so I ran to the truck. You’re welcome, by the way!”

They all screamed as Kyle drove into a fat guy, whose head ripped free of his body and bounced off the windshield.

Stan stuck his head into the interior of the car. “And since when do you know how to drive a stick?”

“Do you even have a license?” Tweek yelped, gripping his seat belt as Kyle took another sharp turn.

“Davíd’s been teaching me,” Kyle replied through his teeth.

“Badly,” Craig mumbled and Kyle twisted around in his seat.

“I don’t see your license!” he shouted and Tweek screamed.

_“Eyes on the road!”_

Kyle turned back and swerved just in time to avoid slamming into a tree. He hunkered down behind the wheel and guided them off the dirt road and onto bitumen.

“What’s going on?” Stan pleaded, glancing about the three of them but no one had an answer.

Tweek fiddled with the radio, sifting through static until he found a man’s voice. He twisted the knob, clearing up the voice as best he could and they all leaned forward to catch what he was saying. “-all advised to stay indoors. Do not leave unless absolutely necessary or until a clear infestation has occurred. Do not attempt to reach loved ones. The danger is too great. Until we can be given a clearer explanation, we are to assume we are dealing with nothing less than hordes of the undead.”

 

They didn’t speak at all as Kyle drove them into town. It was so different from just yesterday as they’d driven to the campsite, all of them joking around, fighting over the aux chord. Their booming laughter seemed so loud now as they sat in complete quiet, the radio the only sound between them.

It had been happening for a while—a week or so. But the true effects of what everyone had thought to be a bought of flu hadn’t kicked in until the early hours of yesterday morning. The first attack would have happened right as they’d left town. Now it was a full-blown epidemic, with large hordes of what everyone was now calling zombies infesting the streets.

People were advised to steer clear of South Park.

The town sign had a bloody handprint dragged across the wood. They all stared as they passed it but still didn’t speak. The sun, which had been dipping towards the horizon as they’d taken off, had now entirely vanished, bathing everything in darkness.

As Kyle pulled onto the main street they saw their first lot of zombies. They were shuffling along the street, moving at a much quicker pace than the zombies in the woods had, but still nowhere near fast enough to threaten a truck. They strained to make out whom it was but they were just faceless nobodies. Each boy let out a sigh of relief and knew what the others were thinking.

_Not someone I know. Not my family._

 

Tweek’s house was the closest so they went there first. Kyle turned off the headlights and slowed to a crawl as he approached, stalling the engine a few times. He pulled into the drive way and they all hopped out of the truck, glancing furtively about them for any sign of movement.

Stan almost fell out of the tray and Craig had to catch his arm to keep him from collapsing.

“Thanks,” Stan murmured and Craig just nodded in reply.

Tweek fished his key out from his pocket and unlocked the door, letting them in. Tweek hugged his axe to his chest as he darted about the house, whispering for his parents. The four of them split up, checking the doors and windows and making sure none of those… _things_ had gotten in.

Craig slid the back door open and stuck his head out. No zombies looked to be lingering in the Tweaks back garden. He was about to shut the door when he noticed a baseball bat and glove leaning against the wall outside. He thought for a moment then snatched the bat up before shutting the door and flicking the lock. Already, with the solid weight of the bat in his hand, he felt better.

He paced back to the living room, where the other three boys were already gathered. He looked to Tweek, who shook his head.

“Their cars are gone. They probably got stuck at the shop.”

“House is clear, though,” Kyle put in.

“Okay,” Stan said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s go then.”

He was already walking for the door and Kyle had to reach out and grab his wrist to halt him.

“Dude, we can’t just go,” Kyle said.

Stan frowned at him then down at the hand on his wrist until Kyle released him. “What do you mean we can’t go? We have to go. Our families-“

“Didn’t you hear what the guy on the radio said?” Kyle snapped. “They’re more active at night. If we make a sound, do anything to bring attention to ourselves, we’ll get swarmed.”

Stan clicked his tongue impatiently. “So we’ll be _really_ quiet.”

“Stan-“

“No!” Stan almost yelled and they all winced. Stan swallowed and lowered his voice as he continued. “No. I’m not gonna sit on my ass and do nothing. My family could need me right now.”

“You think I’m not worried?” Kyle hissed. His fists were shaking at his sides and Craig saw tears threatening to spill over his cheeks. “You think I’m not freaking out about my parents? About _Ike?”_ He was up in Stan’s space now, poking his chest. “I am. I’m scared shitless. But running out there and getting ourselves killed isn’t going to help anyone.”

Stan stared at the ground, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Kyle sighed and stepped back, swiping an arm over his damp eyes.

“Kyle’s right. It’s too dangerous,” Tweek said, making all eyes turn his way. He was sat on an armchair, staring down at the bloody axe head in his lap. His startlingly green eyes snapped up to meet each of their gazes in turn. They rested on Craig a little longer before going back to the axe. “We’ll stay here for the night, get some sleep, gather what we can, then leave in the morning when it’s safer.”

Stan still looked ready to protest so Craig quickly stepped in. “Sounds like a plan,” he said and Tweek shot him a soft smile. Craig almost smiled back when Tweek’s words from only a few hours ago came back to him.

_“I think we should break up.”_

Craig cut his gaze away from Tweek. His hands twitched by his sides so he stuffed them deep in the pockets of his jacket.

“I like this plan too,” Kyle said and Stan sighed.

“Fine. But we’re leaving really early.”

“Good,” Tweek said. “We should sleep in shifts. You know, just in case.” He stood up and walked to the kitchen, where the coffee machine rested on the counter. “I’ll take first watch.”

“Sounds good to me,” Kyle yawned and fell face-first onto the couch. He was snoring in seconds.

Stan rolled his eyes and put down his shotgun before trying the phone. It didn’t work but he kept putting it down and picking up anyway, like it might miraculously fix itself. Craig had to take it out of his hands and tell him to go to sleep before he finally quit it.

Stan dragged the mattress off the bed in the guest bedroom and pulled it into the living room. He put it down next to the couch, where Kyle was now drooling, before lying down himself. Craig watched him watch Kyle. He ran his finger along the hand Kyle had flopped over the edge, occasionally stroking his palm with his thumb. After a while Stan tucked his hand under his head and closed his eyes. Craig watched his shoulders rise and fall into a steady rhythm and he knew he was asleep.

Craig glanced up at Tweek, who had settled into the armchair with his steaming mug. When he looked over Tweek’s eyes were already on him.

“You don’t have to wait up with me, Craig,” Tweek said, his voice soft in the dark. “You should get some sleep.”

“I’m good,” Craig replied. They sat in silence for a few minutes before he spoke up again. “About before. Do you really wanna break up?”

“No,” came Tweek’s swift response and Craig blinked at the hardness in Tweek’s voice. “I don’t. Not anymore.”

His eyes were adjusting to the darkness and he could see Tweek clearly, sitting hunched up in the chair. Not like he was going to curl up and cry but like he was ready, at the shortest notice, to spring into action.

“Why did you?”

“I thought-“ he faltered, unsure. He took a sip of coffee before continuing, his voice steady again. “I thought we’re too different. That eventually it would just happen to us, you know? Like, we would just fall apart. Maybe not for a while but what about once we graduate and you go off to become an astronaut and I keep working for my parents?” He shook his head, the blonde spikes of his hair swaying with the motion. “We’d be done for.”

“Babe,” Craig said, trying to follow Tweek’s logic, “we’re only sophomores. We don’t have to worry about college for-“

Maybe not forever.

“I know,” Tweek said, seeming to read what Craig was thinking. “And that’s why I’m saying I don’t want to now. None of that stuff matters anymore. All that matters is me and you, and getting through this.” He grinned and the smile was a little wild, a little unkempt. It gave Craig reason to caution but Tweek was almost jubilant. He raised his mug almost like a toast. “It’s us against the world, Craig.”

Craig still had questions, still had things he needed to say, but for now it was enough. So he raised an invisible glass and tipped his hat to his boyfriend.

 

When Tweek had lifted the axe and plunged it into the undead man’s chest something inside him had flipped. His world, usually cluttered with a million thoughts flying at him at all times, had narrowed down to a single frame: the man and Craig. Everything else melted away and his body had sprung into action. He’d been thinking of nothing but the thought that he had to protect Craig. It was like instinct. It was a relief. He finally had a direct target to launch all his energy and anxiety at.

Still that steely calm was with him. His anxiety hadn’t vanished. His brain still whirled with all the possibilities of what if they got in the house? What if all the decay gave them infections? But all that sat contained in the back of his mind. The energy thrumming through his veins no longer made him twitch and jump, like his bones were trying to rip free of his skin, but gave him strength. He felt stronger than he ever had. The axe in his hands wasn’t heavy but felt like an extension of him. He no longer worried about everything that could go wrong, because everything _had_ gone wrong. The world—or at least South Park—was overrun with zombies. Irrational impossibilities haunted him and turned his knees to jelly. But zombies? He could handle zombies.

And now he had a clear purpose.

He looked at that purpose, passed out in a chair. Craig cuddled his baseball bat, his braces winking on his teeth. _I’ll protect you, Craig_ , Tweek promised him. _No matter what happens, I’ll protect you._


	2. Honey, I'm home!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! This is where we start seeing some major zombie action. If parent deaths bother you, look away, child.

Stan was barely keeping it together. He’d woken up in the dead of night, the tail ends of a nightmare trailing after him. It was the undead man in their campsite, lunging at Stan and clawing his face. In the dream his skin had shredded like paper under the thing’s fingers and he’d jolted awake, his hand flying to his cheek. It still smarted from where he’d been scratched but his skin was still intact.

During his watch he’d sat in the armchair, clutching at Jimbo’s shotgun and jumping at every noise. He’d looked at Kyle, sleeping peacefully somehow, on the sofa. Watching Kyle calmed him down enough to get through his watch without shooting himself in the foot or something dumb like that.

When morning came and Kyle woke him up, Stan didn’t feel rested in the slightest. His body slugged and ached, even with the coffee Tweek made for him. Even if zombies weren’t in his dreams, thoughts of his family plagued him. Where had they been when the attack happened? Were they at work? At home? What if Shelly was visiting her boyfriend out of town? That’d be a relief. But what if she wasn’t? Were they all together or separated?

He needed to know.

Stan helped the others ransack Tweek’s house and they managed to come up with some backpacks and duffle bags, provisions from Tweek’s fridge and pantry, blankets, towels, toiletries, and whatever else they could find that might be of use. They stuffed the bags full and went for the door when Tweek gasped and ran for the kitchen.

“Man, what’re you doing?” Kyle asked.

“What if they come back?” Tweek said, rifling through a draw until he pulled out a notepad and pen. He began furiously scribbling down on the paper. “They need to know I’m back. I’m leaving a message so they’ll know where to find me.” He nodded as he wrote, his hand moving a million miles an hour. “We should set up a rendezvous so our families can find us.”

“That’s a great idea!” Stan said, his heart lifting at the thought. “We leave the same message in all our houses, so we can all meet up at the same spot.” He turned his grin on Tweek. “Fuck, Tweek, I didn’t even think of that. You’re a genius!”

Tweek beamed, clearly delighted at the praise but Kyle crossed his arms, all huffy suddenly.

“Anyone could’ve thought of that,” he sneered and Stan wanted to whack him upside the head.

“Yeah, but anyone didn’t,” Craig cut in, shooting Kyle a look, “Tweek did.” He sauntered to the door, swinging his newly acquired baseball bat by his side. “Now let’s go.”

Stan could see Kyle biting the inside of his cheek, an old, agitated tick. He nudged him and Kyle sighed, before following Craig out the door. They checked the street but there was no sign of zombies, so they quickly loaded their bags into the back before Stan patted his empty pockets.

“Where are the keys?”

Kyle pulled them out of his bag. “Still got ‘em.”

“Well, toss them here,” Stan ordered, holding out his hand.

“Can’t I drive again?” Kyle whined, his brown eyes pleading. 

Stan had spent years hardening himself against those eyes and shook his head. “No way, dude. This is my dad’s truck.” He cracked a sly smirk. “Besides, you still don’t have a license, no matter how many lessons you’ve had with Davíd.”

Kyle tipped his head back and groaned. “You’re such a buzz kill.”

But he tossed Stan the keys and climbed into the passenger seat, while Tweek and Craig hopped into the loading tray. There were three seats in the interior but it seemed to be an unsaid rule that two sat inside and two sat outside.

“I didn’t hear you complain about my driving when it saved your lives yesterday.”

“It nearly killed us,” Tweek said from the back and Kyle flipped him off.

Stan could’ve laughed but then he caught a glimpse of the scratch on his cheek as he was adjusting the rear-view mirror and the gravity of their situation came down on him again. How could they possibly laugh at a time like this? The world as they knew it was over and they were cracking jokes?

Kyle glanced over at him and, as always, seemed to read his mind. “It’s okay, man,” he said softly and laid his hand over Stan’s on the gearshift, giving it a gentle squeeze. Stan could feel the callouses from years of playing basketball on his fingers. “We’ve just got to take it one step at a time.” He squinted at Stan’s cheek and leaned closer to inspect it until Stan could feel Kyle’s breath on his skin. He swallowed, his throat clicking, as he tried his best not to react. ”That cut’s pretty deep, dude. You should get some stitches.” He traced his fingers around the red gash, his touch like fire. “It kinda makes you look like some cool anime character though.” Then his fingers and breath were gone and he was leaning back to his seat. He smiled plainly at Stan. “We gonna get moving, or what?”

“Yeah, Stan,” Craig said through the rear window. Judging by his smirk he’d seen the whole exchange. “We gonna move, or what?”

Stan knocked the glass in front of Craig’s face with his fist and turned the keys in the ignition. “Yeah, we’re going.” He pulled onto the road and took off at an ambling pace.

The streets were quiet as they drove through the signs that painted a picture of yesterday’s events. Cars were parked at haphazard angles on the roads, some stopped in the middle of intersections, almost piling on top of each other, some wrapped around telephone poles. Garbage cans, not collected on their weekly pickup, were toppled over and spilling their contents onto sidewalks and festering in alleys. Crows picked apart half-eaten burgers and flies hung in clouds over bursting dumpsters. Doors to houses and businesses hung open, banging against the door frames in the breeze.

It would’ve been a ghost town if it weren’t for the odd zombie. There weren’t the packs of them they’d seen the previous night as they’d rode into town, instead they shuffled along individually like lost coyotes. They were definitely slower in the light of day, barely reacting as Stan drove by, just staring blindly ahead with their milky eyes.

Stan almost threw up when they passed a pair of them digging into the stomach of a dead guy, spread out on the sidewalk. His entrails glistened red between their bloodstained hands as they stuffed their faces like he was a nice hot lunch they’d been starving for. He heard Kyle’s sharp intake of breath beside him and knew he’d seen it too. How could he not?

They listened to the radio as they drove. It was the same station with the same broadcaster. They’d tuned in just as he was describing the most effective way to dispatch the undead. He recommended decapitation and/or destroying the brain, but setting them on fire would also work too, if you wanted to wait until they were completely incinerated.

“I wonder how much of this stuff is the same as generic zombie lore,” Kyle mused and Tweek pulled the rear window open to hear him.

“What do you mean?” Tweek asked, leaning almost half his body through the window.

Kyle’s mouth quirked up at one corner as he considered. “I mean, like, cutting off their heads is kind of basic knowledge, right? So I’m just wondering what else we already know. Do you become a zombie if you get bitten? Is this an infection or is every dead person going to become a zombie?”

“Do we really need to know all this shit?” Stan cut in, pressure beginning to build behind his forehead.

“Well, yeah, dude.” Kyle was frowning at him now, which just made Stan hunch his shoulders. “We’ve gotta know what we’re up against here. Like, how much of their intelligence do they still have? Can they open doors? Drive cars? Create formal plans of attack?”

“Are these some _Night of the Living Dead_ zombies, or _World War Z_ assholes?” Tweek added and Kyle snapped his fingers.

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“All we need to know is how to kill them,” Craig said.

Kyle looked over his shoulder to stare at Craig crossly. “Were you listening to anything I just said?”

Craig picked some lint off his jacket. “Not really.”

“We need to know what the best strategy to fight these things is gonna be!”

“No, we don’t,” Stan snapped, his voice ringing louder than he’d intended. Kyle stared at him and Stan sighed through his nose. “You’re talking about ‘attack plans’ and ‘strategy’, like we’re going to be fighting these things for years.” His hands were practically strangling the steering wheel. “We’re not in some war here. We’ve just got to get to a safe place and wait this thing out until the military can take care of it.”

Tweek and Craig stayed quiet, clearly reading Stan’s stress but Kyle, who Stan knew could read him like a book, had never tread carefully around his feelings.

“I’m not going to bury my head in the sand and wait for someone to come save us,” Kyle said hotly. “Maybe this whole thing will blow over soon but we’ve got to be prepared for the worst-case scenario.”

A harsh bark of laughter ripped free of Stan’s throat. “What could be a more worst-case scenario than _this?”_

He gestured to a zombie sitting outside a gas station, gnawing on the corpse of a little girl. Her head was missing and her lacy, blue dress was half red with fresh blood. That got Kyle to shut up.

They drove the rest of the way to Craig’s house in silence. When they pulled up to Craig’s driveway they all sucked in a collective gasp. Two cars were parked neatly in the driveway. Stan’s spirits soared. Maybe it wasn’t all hopeless. Maybe Tweek’s parents were the only ones not home and his family would be safe.

Then he looked closer and saw the broken windows and his brief moment of elation was shattered. Stan cut the engine and they all leapt out of the car, Craig leading them.

“Mom!” he called as he rushed to the door. “Dad!”

He kicked in the door, which was already cracked and caved easily under his foot. He raced inside, disappearing from view. Stan brought up the rear and almost ran into Kyle when he stopped in front of him. He could’ve chewed Kyle out for it but any quips died on his tongue when he saw Craig standing in the middle of a destroyed living room.

Thomas and Laura Tucker were laid sprawled out on the floor, the white carpet beneath them stained crimson with their blood. Horrible gashes tore across their abdomens, organs shining pink under the sunbeams peeking between the curtains. Their faces were frozen in stricken expressions of agony, the skin around their eyes and mouths waxy and contorted.

The ground shifted beneath Stan’s feet and he stumbled back in a dazed stupor. He would have fallen if Kyle hadn’t snatched his arm and held him up. He collapsed into Kyle, flinging his arm around his shoulders. Kyle’s arm wrapped around his waist in kind and they both stood there, knocked stupid by the sight, so incomprehensibly horrible.

Stan remembered Mr and Mrs Tucker seeing them off as he and Craig had left from the house. Laura had made them pancakes and Thomas had made some vague warning about bears before they waved good-bye, their smiles bright and content.

Craig fell to his knees to his mother’s side. A broken cry tore out of him and the sound was so high and foreign to Stan, he couldn’t bear to hear it. Tweek dropped down beside Craig, the axe falling from his hands. His green eyes were perfect circles as he looked back and forth between the two bodies. He placed his own quivering hand on Craig’s back, still unable to look away.

“Mom,” Craig cried, cradling his mother’s head between his shaking hands. Her hair, sticky with blood, pasted itself to his fingers, like weeds trying to pull him down. He ducked down until his ear was pressed to her mouth and he bolted upright, startling everyone. “She’s still breathing!” He bent over his dad then sat back up again, his breathing growing fervent. “So is he! They’re still alive! Maybe we can-“

A low moan, so quiet Stan almost couldn’t hear it, spilled from between Laura’s lips. Craig was instantly hovering over her, talking frantically, his words tripping over each other as he tried to get her to talk to him.

Kyle’s fingers dug into Stan’s ribs. “This must’ve just happened.” His gaze was locked straight ahead.

Stan tried to swallow but his mouth had lost all moisture. “I know. I don’t like this.”

Craig was still yelling at his parents, tapping their cheeks, trying to get them to come to. Laura’s eyes seemed to move and see Craig for a moment. Her lips shaped over some unsaid sound, maybe her sons name.

But then the moment, and the life inside her, passed.

Her eyes rolled back and her lips went slack. Craig blinked down at her, his hands still cupping her face.

“Mom.” He shook her shoulders but she didn’t stir. “Mom.” He shook her hard enough for her head to loll loosely on her neck and Tweek had to grab his wrist to stop him.

“Craig-“

“No!” He shoved Tweek aside as he dove for his father and tried the shaking technique on him but Thomas didn’t even twitch.

It was the dull thump of Thomas’s head against the bloody carpet that seemed to make Craig stop. He let go of his dad’s shoulders and slumped back on his toes. His back was to Stan and for that he was grateful, because when he started sobbing Stan was glad he couldn’t see his face.

Tweek pulled Craig to him and Craig threw his arms around him, burying his face in Tweek’s neck. The force of his sobs wracked his whole body, the sounds coming out of him choked and awful.

Stan squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to Kyle’s shoulder as though he could hide from Craig’s grief there.

They were caught in an instant of stillness as they clung to one another; the sound of Craig’s weeping filling every inch of the room. Stan lifted his head just as Kyle’s whole body tensed beside him. Stan caught a brief glimpse of terror in Kyle’s eyes before he was gone from Stan’s embrace and charging forward.

“Craig! Watch out!” Kyle grabbed Craig by the collar and hauled him back, just as a blundering hand clawed at the air where his head had been.

Craig and Tweek fell back and scrambled to their feet. Laura Tucker’s hand, ashen and gnarled with rigor mortis reached out to them. Her eyes, once a pleasant blue, were now a cold, colourless white. Thomas rose into a sitting position behind her, bending up like a vampire rising from a coffin. He, too, had the same colourless eyes. Their open, gaping mouths turned to them and they began to crawl across the carpet.

“No!” Craig howled, staggering back. “Mom. Dad. Please, no!”

They paid him no heed. No recognition sparked in those cold, dead eyes for what had once been their son.

“Craig,” Kyle croaked. “We can’t leave them like this. We have to-“

“Shut up!” Craig shouted, sparing a furious glance at Kyle before swivelling back to his parents. “We’re not killing them.”

“They’re already dead!” Kyle argued and Stan wished for once he would listen and shut up.

_“No.”_ Craig’s voice broke on the word and he let out another gut-wrenching sob. “I- _I can’t_. I-“

“Stan, give me your shotgun.” Tweek’s voice was cold as frozen iron.

Stan stammered, wordless noises blubbering out of his mouth but he fell silent when Tweek cut his icy glare his way. Stan gulped and wordlessly passed the gun to Tweek. Tweek looked at Craig, who looked back at him, his eyes wide and helpless but also beseeching. Tweek’s mouth wobbled for a second before his steely resolve visibly settled back in. Stan watched as he cocked the gun and aimed it at what wore Laura Tucker’s skin.

Tweek peered over the barrel and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Two shots fired in quick succession pierced the air, splitting Stan’s head open with the sound. They hit both their targets between the eyes and the Tuckers fell still. They didn’t get up again.

Craig took a few seconds to take in the carnage before his head snapped up. “Tricia.” He was up the stairs in an instant, his footsteps thundering on the old wood as he ran.

Tweek stared down at the couple and Stan could only wonder what was going through his mind right now. He’d seen Laura and Thomas a lot over the past year in particular, with him spending more afternoons hanging out with Craig after school. But Tweek had been dating Craig since they were kids. Stan knew that Tweek’s parents weren’t the greatest, so he could easily picture the Tucker house as his home away from home. And he’d just shot the both of them.

Stan stepped forward, his hand hesitating over Tweek’s shoulder. “Tweek, I-“

Tweek turned around and pressed the shotgun to Stan’s chest. “Thanks.”

His voice sounded hollow and he left without another word, up the stairs.

 

Craig ripped through Tricia’s room, tipping over her bed and dresser, but finding no sign of her. His cheeks were still wet from his tears and snot ran freely from his nose. He swiped at them with the balls of his hands, focussing on nothing but finding Tricia. He definitely wasn’t thinking about his mom and dad, shot dead by his boyfriend downstairs. Once he’d torn up her whole room and finding no trace, he ran to his own room. He rifled through his closet, searching for his katana.

“Where the fuck is it?” he muttered, throwing aside shoes and odd socks.

“What’re you looking for?”

Craig spun around to see Tweek standing in the doorway. His heart squeezed uncomfortably tight beneath his ribs. Tweek’s hands seemed painted red with blood, though they were clean. Craig knew he was being dumb but his mind didn’t want to filter appropriate logic at that moment. He wanted to both hug Tweek and push him down the stairs.

“Tricia,” is what he replied with.

Tweek tilted his head. “In your closet?”

“No, I-“ a hiccup interrupted him and he groaned in frustration. “I can’t find my fucking katana and it’s supposed to be here but it’s not and I-“

“Guys!” Stan’s frantic call, pitched high with panic, rang up the stairs. “We’ve got a bit of a situation down here!”

Tweek turned his body to go but then he stopped and looked to him, as though asking for permission to leave. Craig wanted nothing more than to scream, to let whatever threat downstairs have its way with Stan and Kyle. He wanted to curl up under his sheets and succumb to the wave of incredible emotion that was threatening to drown him. But he took one look at Tweek, at the concern in his eyes and remembered Tricia. He knew he couldn’t give in. Not yet anyway.

So he nodded at Tweek and the two of them raced down the stairs.

The sight that greeted him wasn’t all too pleasant.

Stan and Kyle were holding the back sliding door shut to keep out three zombies, which were banging on the glass.

Stan turned at the sound of their approach and sucked in a shaky breath. “I think they were already outside when we got here. The gunshot must’ve attracted them.”

Craig looked to the lifeless bodies of his parents, cut up and half-eaten, likely by the very things banging on his back door. His tears stopped, as though something inside him had turned off the tap. Hatred like he had never known curled in his belly as he stared at the unpitying eyes of those monsters. He scooped up his bat from where he’d dropped it by the front door and turned to face Stan.

“Open it,” he said.

Stan looked at him like he’d sprouted a second head. “What? Are you-?”

_“Open it,”_ Craig repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Stan’s brow was creased with worry but he nodded at Kyle and the two of them let go as one. It took a moment for the zombies to figure out to pull the door sideways but by then Craig was there.

He ripped the door open and Sparta-kicked the first zombie in the chest, easily toppling it. He swung at the second, hitting it in the ear and caving the side of its head in. Hands pawed at his back but they were slow and sluggish, and Craig wasn’t playing around. He knocked the butt of the bat into the third zombie’s chin, snapping its head back. He bashed it in the ribs and the zombie fell forwards, landing nose-first on the bottom of the doorframe. Craig grabbed the sliding door and rammed it into the zombie’s head, cracking it’s skull open like an over-ripe melon. He gritted his teeth and smashed its head in a few more times until it was little more than grey mush, mixed with the black ichor of its deceased blood. He stomped over to the first zombie, still rolling around on the ground where he’d kicked it.

Craig raised his bat, now wet with dark blood and thought of his family. His mom and dad: gone. His sister: missing, but also probably gone. All of it had been taken away from him, just like that, never to be returned. A single tear leaked from the corner of his eye and traced its way over his cheek. He gripped the bat like it was a good-bye of some kind, and maybe it was. Good-bye to his old life and hello to hell.

He brought the bat down with a cry, knocking the zombie on the crown of its head. He could barely see through the tears blurring his vision but he brought his bat down again and again until his arms ached. He didn’t know how long he stayed there like that, hitting the zombie, but eventually a pair of hands locked around his wrists and pulled the bat from his grasp.

Tweek’s face filled his world and he blinked. He looked down at the lumpy, gruesome mess he’d made, and then back up to Tweek’s kind, sad eyes.

“It’s okay now, Craig,” Tweek said, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “It’s over.”

“No,” Craig caught Tweek’s hand in his own and pressed it harder against his face. “It’s not.” He looked past Stan and Kyle, stood in the doorway and staring at him with something close to fear. He looked past them at the still forms of his parents. “I want to bury them.”

“Craig,” Kyle sighed and he sounded exhausted. “We don’t…”

He didn’t finish but Craig could guess what he was going to say.

_“We don’t have time for that.”_

“Take the truck and go on without me,” he said. “Come back once you’ve checked your places.”

“We can’t _split up_.” Kyle’s hands spread out imploringly, as though begging him to see reason. “That’s, like, survival no-no, one-oh-one.”

“Well, I’m staying,” Craig said, shouldering past him. “You can do what you want.”

“I’ll stay with him,” came Tweek’s voice and something inside Craig splintered. “You guys go on. It’ll be okay.”

They must have left because when Tweek came to stand beside him, they were alone. He handed Craig a shovel and, just like that, they were digging graves for his parents.

 

Kyle deserved a fucking Oscar. Seriously. What he’d seen at Craig’s house had shaken him to his core but he knew Stan was worse. Stan, who had never relished in the violent side of life, couldn’t stop the shakes from taking hold of him as he drove. So Kyle had to suck up his own fear and put on a brave face, and he thought he was doing pretty well so far. He filled the car with mindless talk of radio signals and the chances of there being electricity in any of the houses until Stan’s fingers became steady on the wheel again.

They pulled up to Kyle’s house first. His mom’s car wasn’t in the driveway and the front door was open. He didn’t entertain any thoughts of what might’ve happened. He just grabbed the axe he’d borrowed from Tweek and marched into the house, Stan right behind him.

When he saw his father sat up in his favourite chair and a gaping hole tunnelled through his eye, his body went still. He stood there, rooted to the spot and staring at the horrific sight, not blinking, and waited. He waited for the despair, the grief, the overwhelming tidal wave of leg-breaking emotion to engulf him.

But none came. He felt nothing.

_Come on,_ he urged himself. _Cry, scream, do_ something.

But none of the heart-breaking feelings he’d seen pore out of Craig as he’d weeped for his dead parents (like a good son) touched the stoic ice that had crept over his heart.

He stood there dumbly for a few seconds, then Stan was there beside him, rubbing his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Kyle,” he said and Kyle just nodded. It was all he could do.

He called for his mom, for Ike, but no reply came. Stan told him he’d check upstairs and again, Kyle nodded. Stan’s footsteps raced up the stairs, petering away until he was left alone, in the quiet.

He remained there, willing tears to spring to his eyes and was disgusted with himself when none came. Looking around at the over-turned furniture, the bloody handprints smeared on the walls, and the lack of his mom and brother, it was easy to paint a picture of what had happened.

His dad contracting the disease and succumbing to it here. Him going crazy with it and attacking his family. His mom fighting back to protect herself and Ike before stabbing her husband through the eye with the bloody butchers knife now resting on the coffee table. Maybe she’d propped him up in that chair to offer him some kind of peace.

Kyle briefly wondered what he could’ve done if he’d been here, but there was no point in entertaining idle fancies of “what if?”

He walked to his dad and stood at the foot of the chair. He reached out and closed his dad’s one good eye, murmuring the words he’d taught him.

“Yit’gadal v’yot’kadash sh’mei raba,

b’al’ma di v’ra khir’utei.”

He fumbled over the rest, missing words and whole lines here and there. He promised then to learn it all and properly mourn his father, the way he would’ve wanted. This, at least, he could do.

A floorboard creaked behind him and Kyle spun around, already reaching for the axe, but it was only Stan.

“Sorry,” Stan said, holding up his hands. “I should’ve said something but I, uh, you…looked like you were having a moment. What was that?”

Kyle’s heart slowly went back to its normal rhythm and he sighed. “It’s the Mourner’s Kaddish.” He went to the linens closet and pulled out a clean sheet. “It’s a prayer for mourners. When a parent dies you’re meant to say it every day for eleven months and then annually on the anniversary of their death.”

It cleared his head to recite one of the many rituals his parents had drilled into him since boyhood. He walked back to his father and laid the sheet over him, hiding the gruesome mess from the world.

Stan came up beside him and put his hand on his shoulder. “I really am sorry, Kyle.”

Kyle turned to him and Stan’s arms automatically wrapped around him, holding him close. Kyle closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of him. He allowed himself three beats to succumb to his weaknesses, to let himself be held before he straightened up and Stan let him go. He missed the warmth of him immediately but there was no time for childish desires to be cuddled.

He went out to his dad’s underused tool shed and ripped the door open. The chainsaw sat like a gift that was waiting for him on the workbench and Kyle hefted it up. He liked the weight of it in his hands and smiled lightly.

“Hello, old friend,” he purred.

 

When they walked across to Stan’s house, Kyle offered to go in first.

“Just to check the coast is clear,” he added.

Stan couldn’t stop gawking at the chainsaw. “Shouldn’t we go together?”

Kyle grinned, part of it bravado, and part of it a mask. “I think I can handle it.”

Stan just nodded and Kyle swept into the Marsh house. It was in a similar condition to his own: busted up and covered with blood. Dread curdled his guts as he checked all the rooms, calling out to Sharon, Randy, and Shelly.

When he came to the basement door he heard it. Low growls, accompanied with the unmistakable sounds of chewing.

He swallowed thickly. Thinking of Stan, he pushed the door open and stepped in, letting it click shut behind him. He descended the steps slowly, until the room came into view and he nearly dropped his load.

He’d thought between watching Tweek shoot the Tuckers and walking in to find his own father’s corpse, that he’d seen the worst that day had to offer. But when he saw Sharon Marsh bent over her own daughter, chewing on Shelly’s exposed intestines, he knew he’d been dead wrong.

“Holy shit,” he cursed and Sharon’s head snapped up to look at him.

She dropped the remains of Shelly, thick ropes of gore still hanging from her mouth. Her nice, brown sweater was drenched in red, as was the skin around her lips. She took a step towards him with a guttural growl and Kyle narrowed his eyes.

He spotted Stan’s old Toolshed outfit sitting folded up on a box by the foot of the stairs. He swiped up the yellow safety goggles and placed them over his eyes. He ripped at the ignition and the chainsaw whirred to life, its spines spinning along at an incredible pace.

“Bring it on,” Kyle whispered and Sharon charged.

 

When Kyle walked back up the stairs, covered in specks of blood, Stan was sitting in the living room, already crying.

“You sounded like you had trouble,” he sniffled.

Kyle stared down at his bloodstained clothes. He almost said, “You should see the other guy,” but bit his lip and restrained himself.

“It’s not pretty,” he said instead and lead Stan down the stairs. He’d covered the two of them with blankets he’d found stuffed in old boxes. “I couldn’t find your dad.”

Stan collapsed in a fit of sobs. He stroked his mother’s and his sister’s cheeks through the blankets. Kyle dropped the chainsaw and stood behind him, feeling useless. Stan was always so much better when it came to comforting people. Kyle placed a hand on Stan’s shoulder and Stan reached up to squeeze it. His fingers were stiff and clammy to touch.

“I’m sorry, Stan,” he said, echoing Stan’s own words back at him.

“What am I gonna do?” Stan wept and Kyle fell to his knees beside him.

“Just, keep going,” Kyle said, knowing it wasn’t enough but he couldn’t think of anything else. “And the end of it all, we’ve still got each other.”

 

Tweek patted down the last of the loose dirt with his shovel and stepped back to admire his handiwork. It had taken them a solid two hours of merciless work to dig the shallow graves. He and Craig didn’t talk as they shovelled dirt out of their holes and wrapped up Thomas and Laura in white sheets.

Tweek tried not to look at Laura as he hauled her body into the grave he’d dug. The hole in her forehead stood out like a dark beacon of damnation.

They spent another twenty minutes piling the dirt back on top of them. By then it was midday and the sun could be seen behind the thin layer of clouds coating the sky like icing sugar. Even in the brisk air he sweated. He picked and picked at his sleeves until he sighed and ripped at the seams, easily tearing them.

“That’s pretty punk-rock,” Craig commented as Tweek threw down the torn sleeves.

“You know me,” Tweek sighed. “Fuck the system and all that.”

They stood over the two mounds of dirt, listening to the breeze whistle through the trees. Tweek reached out and took Craig’s hand, relieved when he didn’t pull away. After what he’d done…he didn’t know.

“I keep trying,” Craig said, “to remember what was the last thing my parents said to me. But I can’t.” His dark blue eyes were murky as they stared at the dirt, the same dirt that was squished between their palms. “It was probably something like, ‘Have a nice trip’ or ‘See you when you get back.’ I wish it was something else now.”

Tweek threaded their fingers. He could fight off zombies and shoot his undead parents, but he couldn’t take Craig’s pain away.

“Say what you wish you could’ve said now,” he said gently.

Craig blinked a few times to dispel the tears that were building in his eyes. He cleared his throat and sighed down at the graves.

“Mom, Dad.” His voice shook but he went on. “I can’t wait to see you when I get back. As soon as I do, we’re building that model plane you got me for my birthday. But not you, Dad. You suck at that kind of stuff.” He laughed and it came out all phlegmy and congested. “Do you remember my fifth grade science project? You tried to help me build one of those dumb volcanoes and it exploded in the bathroom. Mom, you were so pissed.”

He tried to go on but his words came out wobbly and jumbled. He swore and buried his nose in the crook of his elbow. Tweek ran his thumb over his knuckles.

“It’s okay, Craig,” he said, letting Craig cry softly into his sleeve. “It’s okay.”

 

They walked inside once they heard the front door bang open and Kyle yell that they were back. Tweek opened the back door, stepping over the headless zombie, and found Stan and Kyle pulling supplies out of garbage bags and spreading them out on the dinning table.

“How’d it go?” Tweek asked hesitantly, noting that no one had followed them in.

Stan’s face was ashen so Kyle answered, “We found my dad, then his mom and sister.”

“All of them were…?”

“Yeah.” Kyle’s eyes were a tinge red but he didn’t show any other sign of grief.

“Sorry,” Craig murmured and Kyle nodded. There was nothing else to be said.

“We did manage to find some stuff that might be useful though,” Kyle said, loading out some bug spray, a first aid kit, a box of bullets, and a pack of assorted batteries from his garbage bag. “You might want these.” He pulled out some old-fashioned pilot goggles and tossed them to Tweek, who caught them, bewildered. Kyle tapped the safety goggles over his nose. “Trust me.”

“We also grabbed this at Kyle’s,” Stan said, finally speaking up. He pulled out a box of nails and some barbed wire. “But I’m not sure what we could use them for.”

Craig held up his hand, like they were in class. “I’ll take them.”

Stan shrugged and handed them to Craig, who pulled up his baseball bat and sat at the table. Tweek watched him put on a pair of ski gloves and go about wrapping the barbed wire around the top of the bat, then hammering in nails at bent angles with the handle of a spatula.

“Pretty cool, right?” Craig held the bat up to the light as though he were admiring a fine painting. “Should I call her Lucile?”

“If you do, I’m leaving you,” Tweek deadpanned and maybe it was a little soon to be cracking jokes after what had happened yesterday, by the campfire.

But Craig grinned, flashing his braces. “Okay, she’ll be a nameless killer then.”

They opened the first aid kit and went about pasting Band-Aids over the cuts and scrapes they’d picked up over the last day and a half. Craig pressed a purple Band-Aid over the bridge of Tweek’s nose, where he’d gotten a gash from God knew where. Tweek, in kind, stamped a bandage over Craig’s cheek. Kyle went to do the same for Stan but Stan refused. The shallow gash across his cheek still stood out, angry and red behind the mottled scabs, but he shook his head at the concerned look Kyle was giving him.

“It doesn’t hurt,” was all he said when Kyle questioned him.

They did another sweep of Craig’s house before they left, picking up any other supplies they could carry. Craig handed Tweek a round canteen with U.S.A engraved on the metal.

“I found it in my dad’s drawer,” Craig said.

Tweek cupped it in his hands, the metal cool over his skin.

He eyed Craig warily. “Don’t you want it?”

Craig just shook his head. “You keep it.”

They brought their packs out to the pick-up and loaded them in the tray.

“What the fuck?” Craig exclaimed as he climbed into the back next to Tweek. “Is that a chainsaw?”

“Yep,” Kyle answered from the passenger seat.

Stan started the engine and they pulled onto the road. They drove, listening to the radio, which still wouldn’t tell them what was going on outside of South Park. After a few minutes of this, Craig spoke up.

“Stripe wasn’t there.”

Tweek turned to face him. “Huh?”

“Stripe,” Craig said again, staring off into space. “She wasn’t there.”

Tweek shuffled over until his thigh pressed against Craig’s. “Maybe she’s with Tricia.”

Craig huffed a laugh and settled against Tweek. “Yeah, maybe."

 

The Tweak Bros. Coffee House was the last stop on their tour from hell before they were supposed to go back to Tweek’s house and wait for the rendezvous time. All they had to do was go in there and check the place.

Tweek was rooted to the spot.

“You okay?” Craig asked, stepping up beside him. “You don’t have to go in there.”

“Yeah, I can clear the place out,” Kyle said, hefting his chainsaw out of the loading tray.

“He’ll do it, too,” Stan added from the driver’s seat.

Tweek smiled. Even after all the horrible shit they’d seen today—members of their families dead and eaten—they were still concerned about him. He’d almost gotten used to it over the years; the others walking on eggshells around him, afraid that a misstep might set him off. He’d even appreciated it before. But he didn’t want to be that burden anymore.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Craig and I’ll go in. Stan, Kyle, you guys should wait in the truck and keep lookout.”

Kyle looked mildly disappointed as he put his chainsaw back in the tray but Stan gave him a little salute.

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Tweek and Craig left them there as they stepped inside. The bell tinkled above their heads, its pleasant chime at odds with the situation. The place looked as it always had: the same dark wooden tables and countertop Tweek had wiped down a million times, the wallpaper was crisp and clean, and the array of coffee mugs stood on display below the menu. It was the picturesque scene his father had worked tirelessly to build.

It was almost worse than if they’d found bloodstains and dead bodies.

His eyes found Craig’s and he saw his own disquieted tension reflected back at him. They walked behind the counter and he pushed at the employee’s only door. It opened a foot then jammed on something. Tweek pushed harder and the blockage dragged a bit more. He glanced to the floor and saw his dad’s polished leather shoes.

His lungs caved in as he sidled past the gap he’d made and found his father lying down a couple of yards from his mother. Both had the mottled skin and white eyes of the undead but it looked as though a bullet wound through both of their heads had put them to rest. Black blood dripping from their gaping mouths was pooled like dark halos around their heads.

Tweek stumbled back and caught himself against one of the storage shelves. He couldn’t blink. Couldn’t speak. Could do nothing but stare at the people who had tucked him into bed as a child and ate dinner across from him every night, now dead, dead, dead.

It was funny. This was the first time the three of them had been in the same room in months. His dad had just gotten back from a three-month business trip in Brazil a few days before Tweek had left for his camping trip. This wasn’t the family reunion he’d hoped for.

“Tweek?”

He felt Craig’s fingers graze his elbow. He turned to tell him, yeah, he’d be okay, when he noticed Craig was across the room.

His eyes snapped to his elbow and he saw a large black millipede crawling up his arm. He yelped and swiped at it, whacking it to the ground. The millipede scuttled under a shelf and Tweek jumped back.

There were hundreds of them, crawling little curving paths up the walls, onto the roof. They burrowed between boxes and into pots of coffee beans. Now that he’d seen them he couldn’t help but hear their thousands of tiny legs digging and scrapping all around them. Their dark shells winked under the ceiling lights, gashes of black crawling all sides of the room.

Craig gave a startled yell and batted a couple of millipedes off his shoulders. “What the hell?”

“Let’s get out of here,” Tweek suggested, already back towards the door. He wouldn’t be able to bury his parents like they had with Craig but at that moment, with a room infested with weird bugs, he couldn’t find it in him to care. They raced out the door without looking back.

 

Stan sat with his forehead against the wheel. He was as tired as he had ever been. He just wanted to sleep and never wake up. Death? Yeah, maybe he wanted death.

He glanced over and saw Kyle pull something shiny out of his pocket.

“What’s that?” he asked then saw the silver chain and the six-pointed star pendant hanging from it.

Kyle looped the chain around his fingers. “Davíd gave it to me before we left. Some kind of late Christmas, early birthday present.”

Stan hummed and stared at the gleaming pendant, wondering if it was real silver. The last present he’d gotten for Kyle had been a playlist he’d burnt onto a CD, labelled, _The Stan and Kyle Set List Extravaganza_. He’d written a memory of the two of them next to every song and Kyle had lit up like a sunrise when he’d opened it. It had seemed cool to Stan at the time but looking now at the beautiful chain Davíd had picked out, he couldn’t help but wonder if Kyle had just pretended to like the CD.

“What’s up with you guys?” Stan asked a little too loudly. “Are you two, like, a thing or something?”

“What? No!” Kyle started, his cheeks flushing. “We’re not a ‘thing’.”

“’Cause it would be fine if you were,” Stan hurried to say and Kyle rolled his eyes.

“We’re just friends, Stan. Jesus.”

“Then why did you ask Davíd to teach you to drive a stick and not me? I could’ve helped you.”

Kyle averted his gaze and for some reason that made Stan mad. This whole weird thing was making him oddly mad.

“I don’t know,” Kyle mumbled, which was so unlike him. “I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

“I’m calling bullshit on that,” Stan snapped. Kyle had never minced his words or worried about what would and wouldn’t bother Stan. A thought occurred to him and burrowed into his brain like a tick, refusing to leave once it had arrived. He smiled ruefully. “Wait, I know what it is. You just couldn’t stand to flip the script, could you?”

“What’re you talking about?” Kyle sounded annoyed now and Stan laughed tartly.

“I’m always the one coming to you, asking for help with shit. Help with my homework, or when I don’t understand some fancy-pants technical talk. You taught me how to write in cursive and how to make spaghetti, but you couldn’t come to me with this one thing?” Stan realised he’d been inching forward over the centre console and fell back in his seat with a sigh. “You can’t stand the thought of me having something over you, can you? God, it’s always a power thing with you.”

“That’s not true!” Kyle instantly bit back. This close Stan could see the little chips of green in his eyes, flashing furiously at him like sprinkles of angry peridot. “Maybe Davíd’s just a better driver, huh? Ever think of that?”

Stan folded his arms. “I’m a great driver.”

Kyle laughed and the sound grated on Stan’s ears. “You failed your driver’s test. Twice.”

“I’ve still passed once more than you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck _you.”_

A bloody hand splattered against the windshield and they both screamed.

“Jesus!” Kyle clutched his chest and fought to catch his breath as a zombie pawed at the truck.

It was a middle-aged man in a cable-knit sweater, with a receding hairline and half-moon spectacles still somehow balanced on its nose. It looked kind of ridiculous with red smeared around its mouth and leaking from the corner of its lips. Its hands raked uselessly at the metal doors and it licked Stan’s window, leaving a trail of saliva over the glass.

“Gross,” Stan complained and Kyle snickered. “Hey.” He beat at the window as though that would scare it off somehow. “Hey, get lost. Go on, get out of here.”

“Just shoot the damn thing,” Kyle sighed and Stan clicked his tongue.

“Do you think bullets just grow on trees?”

“If you want me to do it just say so-“

“I can do it.”

“Than _do it.”_

“…I don’t want to.”

“God, damn it, Stan.”

Kyle went to open his door when something smashed the zombie in the side of the head and it collapsed. Stan gasped and Craig appeared a moment later, swinging his dripping bat over his shoulder.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” Craig said, hopping into the back with Tweek.

Stan cleared his throat and twisted the key in the ignition. The truck rumbled to life and he shifted into first.

“How’d it go?” he asked over his shoulder.

Tweek was sitting with his back against the exterior so Stan could only see his spiky blonde hair.

“My parents are dead,” he replied stiffly and another little piece of Stan chipped off and fell away. Two more bodies to add to the count.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

Kyle turned in his seat belt, all the fire gone out of his eyes. “I’m really sorry, Tweek.”

“Yeah,” was all Tweek said back and Craig gripped his shoulder.

As they crested the hill onto the next street, a line of wandering zombies came into view. Stan went to turn off the street but Kyle grabbed the wheel and stopped him.

“Keep going,” Kyle said, a strange calmness in his voice.

Stan glanced at the road, still littered with zombies, then back to Kyle. “Uh, it’s kinda blocked.”

“Just run ‘em over,” Kyle said with a shrug and Stan’s eyes bulged in their sockets.

“Are you crazy? They’ll dent it.”

“You’re worried about _dents?_ Really?”

“Do it,” Tweek said behind them and Stan glanced in the rear view mirror to see Tweek’s face squished through the back window.

A moment later and Craig was there too. “I vote kill the zombies. This is a democracy, Marsh. Listen to the people.”

Stan wanted to argue more but the first zombie was coming up on the road. He could’ve swerved and missed it but at the last second he thought, _Fuck it_ , and barrelled into it.

The truck didn’t slow down, just drove straight through the zombie, severing it at the waist. The guys all let out loud whoops as the top half flew over the roof and splattered onto the road behind them.

“That was awesome!” Kyle exclaimed, grinning wildly.

“Fuck yeah, it was!” Tweek agreed, his eyes big and bright.

“I give it a five,” Craig said like he was some judge at a fine dog show.

A laugh spilled from Stan’s lips and the others all laughed in return, some kind of infectious fervour spreading between them.

Maybe, after all the indescribably horrible shit they’d seen and been through that day they needed this. Here these things were, these things that had turned their little mountain town into a hellscape and killed their families, all lined up for the taking and Stan had the power to end them.

He floored it and they tore down the road, ploughing into and over every zombie possible.

“Get that one!” Kyle pointed and Stan swerved, flattening an old man.

A chorus of cheers went up and Craig piped up. “Don’t miss the pregnant lady.”

Stan careened onto the sidewalk and the truck collided with it. Its bloated belly exploded on impact, showering the windshield with blood and guts. They all exclaimed in disgust but still laughed.

Stan steered back onto the main road and ran over them, one after another. Some exploded like the pregnant lady but most fell beneath his wheels or flew over the hood. Every hit caused the guys to laugh and cheer. An ear-splitting grin stretched across Stan’s face, making his cheek ache.

“If my dad’s still alive, he’s gonna be so pissed!” Stan shouted and the guys all applauded and slapped the walls of the truck.

Tweek stood up in the back, his top half disappearing from Stan’s view. His heart thundered in his chest and he told Tweek to sit the fuck down but he clearly wasn’t listening. Stan heard his delighted yell and peel of hysterical laughter. Craig also stood up and Stan let it go. They were already doing something really wild and stupid; why not add on a little extra while they were at it?

“I take back anything bad I ever said about your driving,” Kyle said, pumping his fist as Stan drove over a woman in expensive-looking workout gear.

“That’s damn right,” Stan shot back and they shared an elated grin.

It was strange in the tragedy all around them, but Stan couldn’t remember a time when his spirits were higher.

 

They pulled up to Tweek’s house, high on adrenaline and laughter. Craig climbed from the back of the pick-up and had to catch Tweek as he tripped.

“Babe,” Craig chided, righting Tweek on his feet. “You’ve gotta be more careful.”

Tweek couldn’t stop giggling as he staggered into Craig’s side. He turned his big ol’ eyes up at Craig and said in the sweetest, sincerest voice, “I love you.”

It wasn’t the first time Tweek had said it. That had been two years ago on Craig’s couch. They’d been watching _The X Files_ and Craig had been talking over some guy’s explanation of the Wow! Signal, when Tweek had turned to him and said, just as he had now, “I love you.”

Craig had paused before saying it back and the look on Tweek’s face, like Craig have just served him the universe on a platter, had made his heart grow three sizes. It had been one of the best days of his life.

Craig felt himself blushing and smiled. He flicked Tweek in the forehead who squawked indignantly. “I love you too, you knucklehead.”

“Hey!” Tweek balled his fists up and lightly pounded Craig’s chest. “Don’t call me a knucklehead, Brace Face.”

“We talked about this,” Craig said with a wag of his finger. “No more ‘Brace Face’ comments.”

“Now that I think about it,” Stan said as he climbed out of the driver’s seat, “what’re you going to do about your braces?”

Craig blinked. “What do you mean?”

A smirk was beginning to pull at Stan’s lips. “I mean the dentist is probably dead, right? Who’s going to take your braces off?”

Craig opened his mouth to answer but stopped short. He thought for a moment then his heart sank. “Shit.”

Stan pointed at him and laughed. “Ha! Eternal Brace Face!”

“You can never know the joys of taffy again,” Kyle sang as he sauntered past him, into the house, dragging his chainsaw with him.

“He’ll never again taste the sweet delight of corn,” Stan lamented and followed Kyle.

Tweek was ecstatic, practically skipping as he went after the guys. “Brace Face! Metal Mouth! Twinkle Teeth!”

Craig sighed, debating whether he should chance it with the zombies, before following his dumb boyfriend inside.

Stan was making spaghetti on the gas top under the watchful eye of Kyle when he walked in. His stomach rumbled at the mere thought of food. They’d been dining on a strict diet of coffee and granola bars for the past day and he was ready for a hot meal to fill his belly.

They’d left notes in all of their houses to meet at the Tweak residence at six p.m. It was just past four o’clock so they had a couple of hours to spare until the allotted time. Craig chose to spend it by lying on the mattress Stan had dragged out the previous night with Tweek cuddled up to his side. The whole ‘sleeping in shifts’ thing had really messed with his sleep cycle and, after everything they’d been through that day, he was bone tired.

He groaned and laid his head on Tweek’s. “You think this might all be a bad dream and if I go to sleep and wake up, we’ll be back in our tent?”

Tweek hummed and Craig felt it reverberate through his chin. “If this is a bad dream, we’re having the same one.”

Craig didn’t reply, just wrapped his arms around Tweek and pulled him close. For now he had this: a mattress beneath his back and his boy in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a lil trauma to bring people together!
> 
> Thanks to anyone who's reading along with this, I hope you enjoyed it, and I'll have more soon.


	3. Spaghetti, Anyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this one was really fun to write, for multiple reasons, not gonna lie.

One minute Craig and Tweek were murmuring to each other in the living room, the next they were fast asleep. Kyle would’ve rolled his eyes if he weren’t so exhausted himself. He left Stan to stir the spaghetti in the pot to light candles. The power had gone out in every house they’d tried so it looked like they were to have a romantic, candle-lit dinner.

He could’ve laughed. If only.

He pulled out his lighter and lit the wick of a tea candle then went around lighting the other candles one by one until a pleasant glow bathed the downstairs of the house. When he returned to the kitchen Stan was pouring a jar of tomato and pesto sauce into the pot.

“Manage not to fuck it all up?” Kyle asked, leaning against the kitchen bar.

Stan chuckled. “I’m pretty sure it’s edible.”

Kyle nodded to Tweek and Craig. “Should we wake them up?”

“Let ‘em sleep,” Stan said, serving up two bowls. “They can always eat later.”

Stan slid a bowl of steaming spaghetti across to him and Kyle had no complaints. They didn’t speak for a few minutes as they shovelled the food into their mouths. Eventually they slowed down enough to get a few words out. Stan wondered about how cold things would get without any heaters and Kyle nodded along.

He pulled the chain out of his pocket again and fingered the pendant. He’d almost refused it when Davíd had given it to him but Davíd had been so sincere he’d felt obligated to take it. He realised Stan wasn’t talking anymore and looked up to find his blue-grey eyes like murky pond water staring at him.

“You should wear it,” Stan said, nodding at the chain.

“Really?” Kyle pulled the chain taught between his fingers. “You don’t think it’s too in your face?”

Stan huffed out a laugh. “Everything about you is ‘in your face’.”

“Thanks, I guess?” Kyle looped the chain over his head, doing it slowly so none of his curls got tangled in the chain links.

The pendant settled against the dip of his collarbone, the metal cool against his skin. His dad would have liked it and the thought was a gentle stab, like an accidental poke with a sewing needle.

“Sorry about before,” Stan said quietly, poking his spaghetti. “I was just all freaked out and blew up at you for no reason. My bad.”

“No, dude, it’s cool,” Kyle replied, trying to recall his affronted outrage outside of Tweak Bros. and coming up zilch. He leaned back and sighed. “Maybe, it could be said, I _might_ have a power thing.” Stan smiled and quirked an eyebrow and Kyle threw his hands up. “Okay, fine, I do have a power thing. I just feel like such an idiot whenever I have to ask for help. And yeah, I know it’s stupid, but I just like it when you need me? That sounds really bad but it’s true.”

Stan stood up and Kyle went cold for a second, thinking he’d said the wrong thing and Stan was going to walk off and leave him, but Stan just grabbed his stool and dragged it around the counter to sit next to Kyle. Their shoulders were touching now and it was making the breath catch in Kyle’s throat.

“Dude,” Stan said and he sounded so damn earnest. “I’m always going to need you, nothing’s ever going to change that.” He took Kyle’s hand and laced their fingers together, letting out a breathy laugh. “I’d be a fucking mess without you.”

A pleasant rush pulsed through Kyle’s veins at Stan’s touch. “Dude, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’re already a fucking mess.”

Stan laughed. A real, loud laugh right from the bottom of his lungs. “Yeah,” he said and scratched the back of his neck, an old, nervous habit. “I guess you’re right.”

Right then in that moment, bathed in the soft glow of the candles and smiling shyly, Stan was beautiful. So beautiful it sent a sharp pang through Kyle’s chest and for a second he was breathless. He reached up with his free hand and cupped Stan’s scarred cheek. Stan blinked at his touch but didn’t pull away.

“Kyle?”

_“Stan.”_

Maybe it was the events of the day, maybe it was Stan being the only good thing left in a world of blood and shit, maybe it was the fucking candles, but something made Kyle lean in and kiss him.

Stan’s lips were chapped and tasted of tomatoes, and were totally still beneath his. He made to pull away when Stan’s hand flew up to grab the back of his neck and held him in place. Stan moaned against his mouth and Kyle melted. Their lips parted and slid together, slick with spit, and it was kind of gross but Kyle liked it. He untangled his fingers from Stan’s and slid his hand under Stan’s old hat to fist in his hair. He tugged lightly and Stan bit his lip in retaliation. Stan’s hand was at his waist, his cold fingers peeking under his shirt when Craig snorted and sat upright.

They jumped apart as Craig blinked blearily from the mattress. He slowly turned to them, his eyes narrowed to slits.

“Are you eating spaghetti?” he croaked.

“Yeah! You want some?” Stan nearly shouted, his face red as a beet. Kyle could’ve smacked him.

“Of course I want some fucking spaghetti,” Craig slurred. He swung his legs to the ground. “Stupid assholes make spaghetti then don’t tell me.” He reached over and shook Tweek’s shoulder. “Babe, wake u-“

Tweek’s elbow snapped into Craig’s ribs and he was up in a flash, screaming like a banshee. Craig crumpled to the floor and Tweek planted his foot on his chest, pinning him to the ground.

“AAARGH!” he shrieked and raised his fists, his whole body quivering like a bowstring.

“Tweek, stop!” Kyle yelled, throwing his hands out. “You’re okay! You’re fine! It’s just Craig.”

Tweek’s eyes, shot with red, came into focus. “Craig?” He looked down and saw his groaning boyfriend, stamped to the ground under his boot. The wild panic on his face was replaced with immediate concern. “Oh, my God, Craig!” He fell to the ground beside him, his hands hovering over him uncertainly. “I’m so sorry! I was having this dream and you-“

“It’s okay,” Craig wheezed. “That was my bad. I—ergh—should’ve known better.”

Tweek still fretted over him, gingerly helping him into a sitting position and apologising every two seconds. He looked to Stan and Kyle, who stared back at him with a frightened awe.

“Holy shit, dude,” Stan said.

Tweek cast his despairing eyes back to Craig and Kyle turned his gaze back to Stan. Stan caught his eye then quickly looked away, busying himself with pouring out more servings of spaghetti. Kyle was irked more than anything. They made out and Stan was really going to pretend like it never happened?

“I’m taking a shower,” he said to no one in particular and went for the stairs.

After all, he was still covered in zombie blood and that couldn’t be hygienic.

 

Stan couldn’t stop blushing. Luckily Tweek was busy freaking out over Craig, and Craig was busy being in extreme pain. He spooned more spaghetti into bowls and heard the shower turn on upstairs. The thought of Kyle, naked under the spray, was not helping matters.

Kyle had kissed him. And he’d kissed him back. The world really had gone crazy.

His lips still tingled as Tweek helped Craig over to the kitchen bar. He pushed the steaming bowls towards them and Tweek waited until Craig grabbed his fork to start eating. They were both clearly ravenous, holding the bowls up to their mouths and scooping in spaghetti like it might disappear at any moment.

Stan leaned back against the counter and massaged his temples. He couldn’t stop thinking about Kyle, how he’d said his name before he leaned in and sealed their lips together. It had been a jolt to his system, zapping him awake out of the half-dead stupor he’d been slogging around in. He didn’t know what had come over him but he’d locked Kyle in place and kissed him back with a passion he’d never had with Wendy or any girls.

He’d only kissed a guy once before and that had been because Craig was an idiot. They’d been chilling in Craig’s room one afternoon, playing video games, and Stan had casually asked him what it was like to kiss a boy. Craig had responded by leaning over and kissing Stan. “Like that,” he’d said and gone back to playing his game. Stan had been indignant, wiping at his mouth and threatening to tell Tweek.

Craig had just looked at him with an arched eyebrow and said, “Do you really think Tweek would buy that I’d leave him for you? Get your head out of your ass, Stanley.”

So, yeah. His experience with kissing guys was limited, at best. And now, in came stupid Kyle with his stupid lips that were throwing Stan for one hell of a loop. Did this mean Kyle liked him? No, it was probably just some spur of the moment thing. God knew they were all a little clingy right now.

Stan reached inside his jacket and pulled out the flask he’d found in the glove compartment of his dad’s pick-up. He unscrewed the lid and took a swig, relishing in the burn as the vodka slid down his throat.

“What’s that?” It was Craig, pausing in his spaghetti demolition to peer at Stan.

Stan wiggled the flask in his hand. “What’s it look like?”

Craig set his bowl down with a clink on the countertop. “Well, I hope you’re planning on sharing.”

Stan wordlessly threw him the flask and Craig tipped his head back to drink. He took one gulp and pulled his mouth away with a disgusted sound.

“Gah.” His nose was all creased up as he handed the flask to Tweek. “I don’t know how you drink that stuff.”

Stan shrugged. “One of my special skills.”

“Drinking is one of your special skills?” Tweek sniffed the contents and wrinkled his nose. “That’s kind of sad.”

Stan smiled a bland smile, the vodka warming his stomach. “I guess it is.”

Kyle chose that moment to emerge from the staircase. His hair was wet, flattening his curls down on top of his head and dripping on his shoulders. He was wearing his basketball uniform of all things, like he’d just come home from a day at school. Stan quickly tucked the flask back inside his pocket as Kyle approached the kitchen.

“The hot water’s out,” he said, not looking at Stan. “So it’s cold showers for all of us.”

_I might need one,_ Stan thought, his eyes glued to the little moles and freckles spread across Kyle’s shoulders that he so rarely got to see.

“But seriously,” Kyle said, taking his bowl to the sofa. “You all stink. Plus, we don’t know how this zombie thing works, so it’s probably best we try and steer clear of anything that could infect us.”

That had Tweek running up the stairs. And so, they all took ice-cold showers, one by one. Stan didn’t enjoy it.

 

Tweek sat in Craig’s lap as they all waited in the living room, staring at the clock on the wall. It was synched up with Tweek’s watch and both read 6:32. Stan wouldn’t stop pacing and Tweek was trying not to let the thumps of his footfalls bother him but his nerves were fried and he was this close to taking his axe and chopping Stan’s feet off.

“Dude,” Kyle said from the armchair, tugging the sleeves of his Cows sports jacket. “I don’t think anyone’s coming.”

“Don’t say that,” Stan shot back and Tweek could see the desperation in his round eyes. “People could still be coming, they might just be a bit late, or- or caught up or something, shit, I don’t know.”

“For once, I agree with Kyle,” Craig said and Kyle mock gasped. “Yeah, don’t get used to it. Seriously though, Stan, it might be time to cut our losses.”

“And do what?” Stan’s voice squeaked and he scratched his head over his hat. His fingers couldn’t stay still. “Leave?”

“Well, yeah.”

_“Why?”_

“This place isn’t fortified,” Tweek spoke up. Stan’s incensed glare turned to him but Tweek didn’t shrink under the look. “We’re too vulnerable here. We should find a place that’s more secured.”

“This place has worked just fine for us so far,” Stan argued. “Do I need to remind you guys that this is the only place we’ve been to that hasn’t: A. been infested with zombies, and B. had any dead people in it?”

“Stan, calm down,” Craig said firmly and Tweek could’ve hit him.

Didn’t he know that telling someone to ‘calm down’ never calmed them down and only made them angrier?

Sure enough Stan bared his teeth in a snarl. “Don’t tell me what to do, Tucker.”

“Or what?” Craig pushed Tweek off his lap and stood up. “You’ll shoot me?”

They were chest-to-chest, nostrils flared. Craig had a good few inches on Stan but Stan wasn’t backing down. He flattened his hands on Craig’s pecks and shoved him back.

“Maybe I should. Or maybe I’ll get Tweek to do it.”

Tweek’s stomach turned to ice and Craig lunged at Stan. He balled his fists up in Stan’s jacket and hauled him forward.

“You son of a bitch!” Craig yelled and punched Stan, right across his good cheek.

Stan’s head snapped to the side from the blow. He let out a cry of pent-up anger and rounded on Craig, launching his own fists at him. Tweek sat frozen on the sofa, Stan’s words ringing in his head. He pressed his shaking hands into his stomach hard enough to hurt. Dimly he heard Kyle shouting something and tipped his head up to look. Kyle forced himself between Stan and Craig, who were tangled up and blindly punching each other.

“Hey! Hey, cut it out!” He pushed them apart, one hand planted on either of their chests and holding them apart at arms length. “Stop it!” He threw glares at the both of them but they stared past him and eyed each other furiously. “How about we all just settle down, okay?”

“Take it up with him.” Craig spat out a blob of red saliva and wiped his mouth. “He’s the asshole.”

_“Me?”_ Stan exclaimed. The cut on his cheek had opened up again and was leaking blood down to his jaw. “I’m the only one still making any sense! We need to wait.”

“For who?” Craig retorted. He threw his hand out to gesture at the front door. “No one’s knocking on our door, Stan!”

As if in response something pounded on the door so hard it rattled on its hinges. They collectively jumped and an instant later their weapons were in hand. The frantic pounding banged away on the door, shaking the walls, and the knob twisted against the lock. Tweek couldn’t see anything from the slit between the curtains but he edged towards the door, his axe raised over his shoulder. His finger quivered as it hovered over the lock. He sucked in a breath, steeled his nerves, and flicked the lock, jumping back and hefting his axe up as the door swung open.

He was already bringing the axe down when his eyes took in blonde hair and a big, blue eye. He banked his swing to the side at the last second, embedding it in the doorframe instead.

A startled squeak and the figure jumped back. Tweek’s shoulders heaved as he stared at the person shaking on his doorstep.

_“Butters?”_

The boy took his hands off his face and he blinked at Tweek, one eye the icy blue that Tweek had seen, the other a milky white but not from an undead disease. The bold scar running over the eye told another story.

He smiled brightly and waved with two mitten-clad hands. “That’s me!”

 

They crowded around Butters in the living room, staring at him intently, waiting for him to finish eating his spaghetti. He looked a little worse for wear, with cuts and bruises littering his skin but he appeared otherwise unscathed. He slurped happily at his meal, getting sauce all over his face like he was still a little kid.

“Well, gee, Stan, this spaghetti sure is delicious,” Butters chirped.

“Thanks,” Stan said, monotone. Like everyone else his unblinking eyes were glued on Butters.

“So, are you going to tell us what the fuck happened?” Kyle, ever impatient, asked. “How did you get here?”

“I walked. Well, I walked and ran, mostly. I did crawl under a fence actually-“

“That’s not what I meant,” Kyle interrupted. “I mean how did you know to find us here?”

“Well that’s easy.” Butters set his bowl down on his lap and burrowed around in the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a wrinkled ball of paper and smoothed it out to reveal one of the messages Tweek had left behind. “I found this in Craig’s house, so I came here.”

“What were you doing in my house?” Craig accused.

He was stood up, using all six feet of him to tower menacingly over Butters. Butters had to tip his head back to look Craig in the eye. He threw his hands up and Tweek internally sighed again at the mittens.

“I wasn’t snoopin’, Craig,” Butters assured him. “Honest! I was just there ‘cause- Ah, gee, it’s kinda a long story.”

“Just tell it,” Tweek said, tired of beating around the bush.

Butters cast his eyes down to his cowboy boots and clinked his ankles together. He wasn’t a particularly small guy but he had a habit of hunching his shoulders and shrinking in on himself, like he was apologising for taking up space at all.

“Well, I guess it started a couple ‘a days ago at my house. My dad came home real late and Mom was givin’ him a real tellin’ to, that’s for sure. I could here ‘em all the way up in my room they were so darn loud. But then it changed from just arguing to screamin’! So I ran down there and found Dad-“ he paused to press his fist to his mouth like he was trying not to puke. “I found my dad eatin’ my mom.”

He had gone a shade of green and his shoulders were starting to shake. A look passed between the four of them. They patiently waited, even Kyle, for Butters to get a hold of himself and continue.

“So then I started screamin’, sayin’, 'Dad, what the heck’re you doin’?' And then he came at me, so I- Well, I don’t know I just did it. I picked up the lamp and smashed it right over his head. I think some of it musta broken off in him, ‘cause he didn’t get up. So I ran outside, thinkin’ I needed to get some help but there was all kinds a’ crazy people runnin’ around out there, eatin’ each other and tearing each other apart. Some kinda pinkeye, I thought. So I go up to my room and lock myself in there.

“Eventually I got so hungry I had to come out. Everything seemed a little quieter and there weren’t so many, uh, well I’m not sure what to call ‘em. Then I heard these loud bangs that I thought might be guns so I followed the noise to your house, Craig. Took me a while to find it though, I really do stink when it comes to directions and all that. By the time I crawled under the back fence you guys were drivin’ off in your truck. I thought I’d lost you guys forever, but I saw the note on the fridge about meetin’ up here and, well, here I am.” Butters smiled at Tweek. “Thanks for not killin’ me, Tweek.”

Tweek went hot at the comment. “Anytime.”

“Did you see anyone else on your way over here?” Stan asked.

Butters scratched his chin in thought. “I saw those goth kids in the diner but I couldn’t tell if they were all undead or just their usual selves.”

“You didn’t-“ Stan licked his lips and leaned forward. He was still visibly packed with nervous energy. “You didn’t…see my dad?”

Butters’ face fell in sympathy. “I’m real sorry, Stan, but I didn’t.”

Stan hung his head and Kyle patted him on the back. Tweek wished he could offer some kind of comfort but he didn’t think Stan would appreciate any consolation unless it was coming from Kyle.

Tweek had wondered the same thing; he was sure they all had. Who had made it? Who else was still out there, fighting to survive, huddled up in an abandoned house and trying to make it through the night? _Was_ there anyone else? The thought that they were all that was left turned Tweek’s stomach. But what if it was true? What if everyone they knew—Clyde, Token, Jimmy, Kenny, the girls, their teachers, the mayor, the police—what if all of them were dead? Or worse. One of _them_.

“We’re glad you made it,” Tweek told Butters instead and Butters smiled gratefully.

“Thanks. You know, I gotta tell ya, it’s a real relief, me makin’ it here.”

“Yeah, it’s nice to see a friendly face.”

“It sure is,” Butters nodded vigorously. “I nearly killed myself runnin’ here.”

Tweek frowned. “Why were you running?”

Butters threw a thumb over his shoulder to point to the outside. “I had all them monsters chasin’ me.”

A blanket of quiet fell over the room. Ice seeped through Tweek’s veins and he could feel it in the others too. He fought to keep his breathing under control but it was hard when his chest was constricting as though a python was crushing him. Butters blinked, his big, doe eyes staring between the lot of them.

“Butters,” Tweek said with as much calm as he could muster. “You didn’t lead them here, did you?”

Realisation pooled in Butters’ eyes and a look of horror spread across his face. “I-“

A dull thump sounded from the door. Tweek jumped from the sofa and stalked to the rattling wood, ignoring Craig’s warning call. His blood was singing with anxious energy. He didn’t think about what he was doing, just pressed his shoulder to the door and listened. The wood shook but only slightly, barely wobbling as though it were a tiny kid beating on the door.

He turned back to a wave of frightened faces. “I think it’s oka-“

The window beside his head shattered as a rotten hand shot through. Tweek yelled, his heart jumping up to his throat. He staggered back as the guys exploded into commotion. More arms reached through the hole, knocking shards of glass to the ground. One of them pulled the curtains down, revealing a swarm of zombies, climbing on top of each other in their effort to get through. All had yawning, black pits for mouths and oozed low, terrible groans.

“Fuck!” Craig swore, grabbing up his bat. He rounded on Butters, who was cowering against his chair, not just shrinking into himself but looking like he was trying to disappear into the cushions. “Butters, what were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry!” Butters wailed.

“You’re ‘sorry’?” Stan bellowed, hitching his shotgun up to his shoulder. “We’re about to get fucking eaten and you’re sorry?”

“Jesus Christ!” Kyle shouted as more zombies smashed in the back door. He grabbed up his chainsaw and flattened his back to Stan’s. “We’re surrounded.”

“Whatta we do?” Butters screamed.

Tweek slapped his goggles over his eyes and lopped off one of the reaching hands with his axe. The arm recoiled, spurting dark blood, and he ducked underneath to dash to where the others were stood in the living room. He grabbed the serving ladle from the spaghetti pot, still doused in sauce, and tossed it to Butters, who fumbled to catch it.

“We fight back,” Tweek commanded and Butters stared back at him, his mouth flapping open and closed like a beached fish.

Stan fired at the back door, now completely demolished, where zombies were flooding in. His shot tore through the shoulder of a college kid with a mullet. It staggered back but then kept advancing, completely unfazed by the hole in its torso. Stan fired off more bullets, most of his shots glancing off skin or slicing right through muscle, but not felling them. The others gripped their weapons, eying the approaching army with dread.

“We’re trapped in here,” Stan yelled over the empty click of his gun. “And I’m out of ammo.”

The extra bullets, along with all their other packs, were in the back of the pick-up. They’d only taken in food and clothes when they pulled up at Tweek’s house. Now, they were stuck in the middle of an on-coming zombie attack from all sides with nothing but the promise of blunt trauma.

“We’ve gotta make a run for the truck,” Craig said, hefting up his bat.

“Out there?” Butters squeaked, the ladle shaking like a leaf in his hands. “We’ll be dead.”

“We’ll be dead anyway if we stay here,” Craig yelled over his shoulder.

Tweek tightened his grip on the axe handle, feeling that steely calm wash over him. Directive received. “Craig’s right,” he said and all heads snapped to him. Perspiration was beading around his eyes, beneath the goggles, but he didn’t sweat it. “We’ve got to clear a path and make a break for it.”

The chainsaw revved to life in Kyle’s hand and he lowered his safety goggles over his eyes. He nodded to Tweek, all business. “I’ll lead the way.”

They all appeared to be of one mind and raced behind Kyle, who pulled the front door open, spilling in zombies like an overnight snowfall. He lashed out, sawing through limbs and creating fountains of gushing blood.

He forced the spinning blades through a chest and bit over his shoulder, “Clear out!”

Behind Tweek Stan took a large gulp from his flask. “Let’s do it.” He didn’t sound confident but his eyes were fixed on Kyle and he raised the shotgun like a club.

Kyle ripped the blade free of the zombie’s chest and kicked it over. He charged through the gap he’d made and the others raced to follow. They burst out of the house like a swarm of bats from a cave mouth. Outside the scope of their problem became visible: a sea of the undead had surrounded the house, all converging on their little group with outstretched hands and bared teeth. The truck was parked only ten steps from them but those ten steps promised a whole lot of blood.

Tweek’s mind went blank, zeroing in on the truck and the obstacles between them. His axe was the key and he unleashed that key with a fury unknown to him until that moment. A blood-curdling yell ripped from his throat and he sprang into action. He swung at every hand that came within two feet of him, slicing off fingers and whole limbs.

He cleaved his axe right through a middle-aged woman’s bicep and laughed. “Ha! You’ve been disarmed!”

“Stay back-to-back!” Craig’s voice cut through the murderous fog over Tweek’s brain.

He leapt back until they were huddled up, shoulders pressed together, in an outward-facing ring of attack. They inched through the throng of groaning, convulsing bodies, weapons swinging out in front of them like wild pendulums. Feet stamped on Tweek’s boots and he briefly thanked whoever had invented steel-toed shoes. He kicked out with those boots, knocking his toes clean through an old man’s kneecap.

Beside him Craig’s braces sparkled on his bared teeth as he bashed away with his bat, bringing up arcs of blood and gore on his backswings. Butters was breaking the record for world’s longest continuous scream as he gripped his ladle two handed and beat back at everything that so much as looked at him. Kyle was drenched in blood as he sawed away, his expression of gritted determination never wavering. Next to him Stan was beating back zombies with the butt of his shotgun, smashing the handle through foreheads and getting grey matter on his sleeves.

Stan brought his gun up in an uppercut but mistimed his swing and missed his target. He stepped on his own shoelace and, with a strangled cry, toppled over. Tweek saw his shoulder hit the floor and knew that if they got on top of him, he was done for.

_“Stan!”_ Kyle screamed, bringing the chainsaw around and cleaving through a drooling kid hunched over Stan.

“Flank him!” Tweek ordered and they squared up around Stan, fighting back with a mad fury.

Stan grabbed at Tweek’s shirt and pulled himself up, nearly yanking Tweek down in the process. His left side was smeared with mud and his breath was whistling from his throat. Tweek briefly wondered if he had asthma when Stan punched his own fist out, over Tweek’s shoulder. Tweek spun around and saw a head snap back from where it was within chomping distance of his neck.

“OW!” Stan shook out his fingers, a grimace of pain on his face.

Kyle sliced a girl Tweek vaguely recognised, who might have once gone to their school, in two from head to groin. She fell and with a leap Kyle was in the truck’s loading tray.

“Come on!” he roared, chopping off the hands reaching up at him.

Butters tried to scramble over the lip but a hand lashed out and caught his hood. It tried to pull him back and he screeched, clinging to the truck for his life. More hands went to grab him and Tweek rolled his axe between them, cleaving through Butters’ hood. He fell on his face in his haste to climb over the tray.

“That’s twice now you’ve almost killed me!” Butters shrieked.

“But I didn’t,” Tweek called back. “You’re welcome.”

“Stan!” Kyle shouted and tossed something that winked in the moonlight. “Heads up!”

Stan caught the bullets out of the air and reloaded his gun. Tweek and Craig fought the tide back from him as he cocked the gun and raised it. The shots cracked the night in half and split open the heads of a couple of zombies a foot away from them. Tweek’s ears rang but he ground his teeth against it and kept fighting.

Craig ripped open the door and Stan dove in, fumbling in his pockets for the keys.

“Tweek! Come on!” Craig hollered as he climbed into the back.

Tweek was aware of nothing but the danger pressing in on him from all sides. He swung his axe, chopping through bone and muscle, splattering blood in every direction, but whenever he cut down one zombie another popped up to take its place. No matter how much he did they didn’t stop coming. His blood was fire rushing through his system. His muscles ached and his arms threatened to give up on him more with every blow he dealt.

You’re going to die, _his mind whispered._

“NOT TODAY!” Tweek roared back.

He gave a last spin of his axe, pouring all his strength into the blow, decapitating the zombie in front of him. It’s head rolled from its shoulders, and began to fall but Tweek didn’t watch to see it hit the ground. He jumped for the truck, hitting his stomach against the lip of the tray. Hands scrabbled to grab him and hauled him up and over. Craig was pulling him to his side but Tweek’s knees buckled and he collapsed.

“Stan, let’s go,” Craig urged.

Tweek could hear Stan’s frantic panting from the driver’s seat. “Yeah, I’m on it!”

Tweek got to his feet, though his knees still wobbled. He turned his chin up and saw Craig, one foot propped up on the tray’s walls, beating down on the crowd with a vengeance. He glanced at Tweek and their eyes locked.

“It’s okay, Honey,” Craig said, cracking a grin. “We’re all gonna be just fi-“

An arm lashed out and latched onto Craig, decomposing fingers circling his ankle. With a savage yank, his leg was pulled out from under him and he tipped forward. The smile was gone from his face and a look of abject terror overcame him. He seemed to descend in slow motion, the zombie who’d grabbed him surging up to meet him, its jaw open and teeth bared. Tweek threw his arms out, wordlessly screaming but his fingers just grazed Craig’s jacket.

Something whistled past Tweek’s ear and a second later a hole was through the zombie’s eye. Craig jerked to halt in his fall and Tweek saw Butters clinging to the hem of Craig’s jacket, digging the heels of his cowboy boots into the floor. Tweek and Kyle pounced to join him and together they reeled Craig in, all four of them collapsing as his weight crashed over them.

“What the fuck?” Craig turned to look behind them and Tweek followed suit.

On the opposite street, poised on a rooftop stood a dark figure, silhouetted against the moon. Their cape blew about their shoulders, revealing what looked like a sniper rifle in their arms. Tweek’s mind flashed back to his childhood, to the gloves and headband still buried in his closet somewhere, to the spat he’d had with Craig. That cape and something about the way the person held themselves all poked at his brain.

More silent shots flew past him, nailing zombies between the eyes with pinpoint accuracy. They were dropping like flies now as shots felled them one by one. Then arrows were raining down beside the bullets and Tweek looked back to see another smaller figure beside the caped one. A bow was in their hands and they were firing off arrows in quick succession. Though their aim wasn’t as perfect as the sniper’s was, they still stuck through shoulders and chests, beating the horde back.

The engine roared to life and the four of them in the back fell to the floor. Just as Tweek felt the truck lurch into gear a motorbike pulled up beside them. Two people were sat on the bike, a driver and a little girl behind them. The two wore helmets, concealing their faces in smooth, dark shells. If he had to guess the driver looked to be their age, while the little girl appeared no older than twelve. The girl held a sword in her hand and she sliced away at the surrounding zombies with surprising deftness.

The driver turned to them, the black mortar of their helmet reflecting their own shocked faces back at them.

“Come with me if you want to live,” said a familiar voice, and they sped away, their tires screeching on the asphalt.

Tweek couldn’t see Stan clearly but he must’ve gotten the message too because he peeled away from the curb and took off after them. The truck weaved across the road and Tweek caught a glimpse of a dark shadow hurtling towards them from above before two shapes landed on the roof. Tweek’s eyes boggled. It was them. The figures from the roof had leapt on top of the truck and were now kneeling down and clinging as they sped down the street.

The wind blew back the dark hood and blonde hair fluttered in the breeze. Tweek squinted at the person but with the wind pummelling his eyeballs and Stan’s wild steering sending him rolling he couldn’t get a proper look.

The roar of the motorbike thundered in front of them, guiding them just as well as any map could. They turned off the street and Tweek caught one last glimpse of his house and the sea of zombies on his lawn before it disappeared from view. He wondered if that was the last time he would ever see his home and, if so, did that make him sad or happy?

They drove on for what couldn’t have been more than ten minutes but to Tweek, who was still reeling from the adrenaline that had pounded his system, it felt like hours. They exited the centre of town, heading out towards the countryside and for the first time Tweek thought whether it was a good idea to trust these faceless strangers.

He didn’t have time to think on it too hard as soon the biker was pulling up on the outskirts of Carl Denkins’s farm. Green pastures stretched out in all directions, looking like the same old farmland it had always been. Looking at it, Tweek could pretend that everything was normal, that the undead hadn’t taken over South Park, and all their families were still alive.

“I don’t know how you guys managed it,” the caped figure on the roof said, “but you somehow found a guy as stupid as me to be your friend.”

They turned and Tweek was looking at the smiling face of Kenny McCormick.

_“Kenny?”_ they exclaimed as one.

Kenny grinned and slid from the truck’s roof to the dusty ground. “The one and only.”

“Oh, my God, Kenny!” Kyle leaped from the truck, nearly tripping over on his landing, but staggering forward as fast as his feet could carry him. He barrelled into Kenny, who almost fell back from the force of him, and threw his arms around his neck. “Kenny! I can’t believe-“ his words dissolved into loud sobs.

Tweek blinked. Kyle was crying. Honest to God, chest wracking, ugly crying. He couldn’t recall ever seeing Kyle cry and now he was sobbing into his friend’s shoulder like a little kid.

Kenny’s hands came up to pat Kyle on the back. “Hey, Kyle, come on. You’re covered in blood, dude, that’s gross.” But Tweek could see his lip wobbling and knew he was fighting back tears of his own.

Stan tore out of the truck and launched himself at Kyle and Kenny, circling his arms about the two of them. “Kenny!” he yelled, louder than any gunshot. “You’re here! It’s you! You’re alive!”

“Yeah, I’m alive,” he hiccupped, his throat bobbing. “No thanks to you guys.”

Then his bravado collapsed and he burst into his own round of tears. The three of them stood there, clinging to each other and crying.

Tweek, whose mind felt like it had been put in a blender, turned his bemused gaze to Craig and Butters, who stared at them in shock. Butters looked to snap out of some kind of daze, and an instant later he was down on the ground, sprinting towards them.

“Kenny!” Butters cried, holding his arms out to him.

The three boys eased back enough for Kenny to spot Butters running towards him. Kenny’s tear-stained face broke into a huge grin and he let the rifle fall from his shoulder to clatter on the ground. He spread his arms and caught Butters as he ran into him, picking him up and spinning him around in a circle. A peel of delighted laughter leaped out of Butters and Kenny chuckled.

“That was some good swinging back there, Leo,” Kenny said as he set Butters back on his feet.

It was funny, Butters was taller than Kenny by a couple of inches but Kenny showed no strain in lifting him. He had always carried himself like he was larger than his short stature. He was kind of the opposite of Butters in that way.

Butters blushed and scratched at his cheek. “Well gee, thanks, Ken.”

“You guys were all awesome,” said a high voice and the second figure dropped from the roof.

Karen McCormick, brown hair a tangled bird’s nest, smiled sweetly at them. “We thought for a minute you might not need our help but then Craig tried to crowd-surf the zombies-“

“I was not ‘crowd-surfing’ the zombies,” Craig cut in, brow furrowed with annoyance. “One tried to pull me in. Totally different thing.”

“So, you just suck then?”

They all turned to see the young girl climb off the motorbike and head towards them.

“’Cause that would totally make sense.” She reached up and took off her helmet.

Tweek gasped.

Craig went still beside him.

Tricia Tucker stood before them, hands on her narrow hips, and looking pissed off.

 

Craig didn’t even register that he had jumped down from the truck. All he saw was Tricia running towards him. He bent his knees to meet her and she threw herself at him, knocking him back on his butt. Her arms came up around his neck and he hugged her back in kind.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“They got in the house,” she murmured back. “Mom and Dad told me to run so I- I did. I jumped the back fence and kept running. They-“

“I know,” Craig said, squeezing her tighter. “I know.”

He was hugging his sister. His sister, who he’d thought he might never see again. His annoying, dumb little sister was alive and in his arms. He would protect her, cherish her for the rest of their lives. He’d-

“Tricia. Oh, my God!” Tweek’s voice came from behind him and Tricia was shoving him away.

“Move,” she said and ran to Tweek, who bent down to scoop her up in his arms. “Tweek, you almost died.” She pressed his cheeks between her hands and he smiled. “I don’t know what I’d do if you died. You’re, like, my favourite person.”

“I’m right here,” Craig said, still sat in the dirt.

Tricia turned in Tweek’s arms and winkled her nose at him. “Yeah, well I’ve been wanting to replace you with Tweek for ages so-“ she flipped up her middle finger.

Craig raised his own finger in response. “Good to know you still suck.”

Tricia rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Craigory.”

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that, _Patricia_.”

“Oh, my God, you guys,” Tweek said in exasperation. “Really? Still?”

“What?” Tricia folded her arms and Craig could see her pouting. “ _He’s_ the one who tried to crowd-surf the zombies.”

Craig pinched the bridge of his nose. “For the last time, that’s not how it happened.”

“Well, you can tell us all about it inside.”

The motorbike rider walked out to them, their combat boots crunching over gravel. They took off their helmet and shook out floppy, black hair. They tipped their chin up and it was Wendy Testaburger who looked out at them.

“Because, I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not have to save your asses twice in one night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The best thing about apocalypse stories are those sweet, sweet reunions.


	4. My barn is your barn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New characters are emerging and I am excited!

Stan was reeling as they walked through the paddocks to the barn. Kenny—his living friend, Kenny—was by his side. Stan kept his arm around Kenny’s shoulders as they walked, afraid to lose the physical contact and find out it was all a figment of his imagination. He looked the same as he always did; the same messy, blonde hair, the same gap-toothed grin. Except now he was decked out in half of his old Mysterion costume and brandishing a sniper rifle.

Then there was Wendy—or was it Wendyl?

Wendy and Stan had broken up at the end of their freshman year, and it took Stan the whole summer of them not getting back together to realise it was for real this time. Then sophomore year had rolled around and Wendy had shown up to school with a short haircut and new set of pronouns. It had taken Stan a while to adjust to referring to Wendy not as ‘she’ but as ‘they’, and to clue in to who people were talking about when they mentioned ‘Wendyl’.

“It’s called being genderfluid,” Wendy had explained to him. “And it’s how I’ve always been, so don’t think of me or treat me any differently, just know what to call me.”

They seemed pretty open on that regard, responding to ‘Wendy’, ‘Wendyl’, or just ‘Wends’.

And now here they were, leading Stan and the others to Farmer Denkins’s old barn. They were decked out in gear, a tool belt strapped around their waist, the pockets bulging with a walkie-talkie and batteries. A leather garter belt was strapped around their thigh, housing some unknown weapon. Sticking out of their backpack was a bright pink selfie stick, spattered with dried blood. Their pink beret, the same they’d had since they were a kid, sat atop their head.

“We were doing a check of the street when Karen saw you guys,” Wendy said, vaulting over a waist-high fence. “I wasn’t sure if we could get to you in time but-“ they shrugged.

“I was sure we could,” Tricia said, still clinging to Tweek’s arm.

Her bright hazel eyes had the same hard, flinty look as Craig’s. Though they looked nothing alike—what with Craig being adopted and all—they were more alike than most siblings Stan knew. Definitely more similar than he and Shelly had ever been.

Just the thought of his sister, still lying under that blanket in their basement, had Stan’s throat closing up.

“Well, thanks a bunch for comin’ for us,” Butters chimed in. “I thought we were goners.”

“Aw, we could never leave you behind,” Kenny grinned, reaching over to ruffle Butters’ hair. “I’ve been killing myself these past few days wondering what happened to you guys. I was kinda hoping you four were still camped out in the woods.”

Stan almost pulled up short. He frowned at Kenny. “You knew about that?”

Kenny shot a smirk at Kyle, who coughed into his fist. “Kyle accidentally let it slip.”

“Way to go, Kyle,” Craig chastised him and Kyle shot him a heated look.

“I’m sorry we didn’t invite you,” Tweek said, scratching at his elbow. “It was just…”

“It’s cool.” Kenny held up a placating hand. “I get it. Couples retreat.”

Stan dropped his arm from Kenny’s shoulders and he leaned back, sputtering. Kyle’s hands sprang up to wave off Kenny’s words, his face lighting up like Rudolph’s nose.

“I- that’s not what- we’re not-“

“Why would you-? _Kenny_ \- I mean I would never-“

Together they made a stammering, blushing mess.

Kenny gave an amused chuckle and held his hands up in surrender. “Okay guys, geez. Don’t you know a joke when you hear it?”

Stan and Kyle looked at each other and Stan knew they were both thinking about the same thing. The kiss in Tweek’s kitchen, the taste of tomatoes and pesto passed between their tongues. Stan ripped his gaze away and stared intently at the grass, though he could feel the tips of his ears burning.

“Wait a second,” Butters broke the silence. “You guys went camping?”

“Uh, yeah,” Craig said and Stan saw a sliver of a smirk pointed his way. He glared at Craig, daring him to try but Craig just rolled his eyes. “We had to cut things a little short though. Our campsite got invaded by those walkers.”

“So it’s already spread up to the woods?” Wendy murmured, their brow scrunching up in thought. “Shit.”

“Do we know anything about how this disease, or whatever it is, works?” Kyle asked, forgetting his earlier embarrassment.

Wendy shook their head, strands of black hair flopping over their forehead. “We’ve only got a day’s more experience than you guys with all of this. Mostly we’ve just been busy with trying to stay alive.” They nodded back to their parked vehicles on the road. “I took my dad’s old motorbike and made a run for it. I almost ran over Tricia going past her house. Then we found these two raiding a gas station mini mart and we all grouped up. We thought to come here last night and, so far, it’s been zombie-free.”

“Can I ask where you got the gun?” Stan asked, pointedly looking at the sniper rifle slung over Kenny’s shoulder.

“I actually picked it up from your Uncle Jimbo’s house.” He shook his head at the hopeful expression Stan knew had shown on his face. “I didn’t see him or Ned. Sorry.”

Stan swallowed his disappointment and nodded. He felt a hand close around his and he blinked down at Karen. She stared up at him with sparkling grey eyes, the same colour as her brother’s.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “They’ve probably gone to get a S.W.A.T team or something cool.”

Stan couldn’t help but smile down at her. He squeezed her hand in response and continued towards the barn, still holding her hand.

Wendy shoved at the barn door, swinging it open. It was free of any animals, housing mostly straw and bales of hay. Sleeping bags surrounded by wrappers and empty cans were laid out on the upper floor, just beneath the rafters. Wendy pulled a flashlight out of their backpack and clicked it on, shining a cone of light on the dark shadows. They climbed the ladder to the upper floor and waved for the others to follow them.

“Not you,” they said to Kyle when he stepped onto the ladder. “You’re covered in zombie blood and it’s really gross.”

Kyle took off the safety goggles, leaving a perfect outline of them on his otherwise blood-painted face. He stared down at the dark splotches staining his clothes and sighed.

“Okay, I see your point.”

“There’s a tap and bucket out the back,” Wendy informed him and disappeared onto the upper floor.

Kyle’s shoulders sagged miserably and Stan had to laugh. He patted Kyle on the back and steered them out the door.

“Come on, I’ll help you.”

Kyle gave him a small, appreciative smile and let himself be lead around the back of the barn. There, next to a small tap, they found a tin bucket with a rag and a bar of soap stashed inside. Stan turned the water on and Kyle let out a long-suffering sigh before he began to peel off his bloody clothes.

Stan kept his eyes fixed on the bucket, trying to ignore the rustle of fabric beside him. He looked up when Kyle cleared his throat and saw him sitting on a little wooden stool, naked except for the necklace glittering around his throat. The little Star of David winked in the moonlight and Stan focused on that as he hauled the bucket over to Kyle.

Kyle stared sheepishly at his knees, scratching at his collarbone. “Thanks, Stan.”

Stan picked the bucket up and gave Kyle a sweet smile. “What’re friends for?” he said and splashed the water over Kyle’s head.

“FUCK!” Kyle swore, shoving Stan away. He glared at Stan from between mounds of wet hair now pasted to his forehead. “That’s fucking freezing!” he hissed through chattering teeth and Stan couldn’t hold in his laughter.

“Sorry,” Stan gasped, laughter making him hiccup. “It’s just- your _face_.”

Kyle was trying his best to look pissed but as he sat shivering on the stool, he looked more like a cold, wet, ginger puppy.

“Okay, okay,” Stan said, reeling himself in. “Sorry. Here.”

He passed the bucket to Kyle, who set it down on the ground and reached in for the soap.

“Fucking asshole,” Kyle muttered and Stan just grinned in return.

He watched Kyle lather himself up with suds, then splash water over himself. The bubbles ran red with the blood but it trickled down his body and onto the grass, leaving clean, milky skin in its wake.

“There’s shampoo and conditioner here too,” Stan said, holding up the bottles he’d noticed leaning on the wall by the tap. “Do you wanna wash your hair?” Before Kyle could make a sound Stan jumped in again and said, “do you want me to wash your hair?”

God, why had he said that? Kyle was going to think he had some weird hair fetish. And, okay, yeah, Kyle had nice, soft curls that Stan often wondered what it would feel like to stroke and run his fingers through, but that was beside the point.

Kyle blinked at him. He paused for a few beats too long before finally nodding.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Go for it.”

Stan pushed up the sleeves of his hoodie and stood behind Kyle. He squirted a dollop of shampoo into his palm and hovered over Kyle’s hair, thoughts of _was this weird?_ swirling around in his head. He swallowed any doubts he had and buried his fingers into the wet mass of curls.

It was weird, he decided as he massaged the shampoo into Kyle’s scalp, but not unpleasant. There was something oddly intimate about it, which made him question if he was making Kyle wildly uncomfortable.

“Hey,” Kyle started, “about before.”

Stan’s fingers froze for a second before he kept going. His cheeks were burning as he grunted a questioning noise.

Kyle reached up to scratch his jaw, and Stan couldn’t see his face but he recognised the nervous twitch in his fingers. “Uh, I’m sorry if I weirded you out with the, er, you know. I was just…thinking about everything, and I got caught up in the moment, and yeah. I’m sorry, I guess, is what I’m trying to say.”

“Dude, you don’t have to explain yourself to me, it’s cool.” Stan reached for the bucket and tipped more water over Kyle’s head, rinsing the suds from his hair. “I get it, you know. We’ve all been…through a lot.”

Kyle turned his head until Stan could see the corner of his eye. “Are you okay, Stan?”

The question caught Stan off-guard. He slowly lowered the bucket back to the ground and picked up the conditioner.

“I’m, well, you know. Alive.” He squirted out probably too much and flicked some off his fingers. He concentrated on Kyle’s hair. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I can see how hard this is on you,” Kyle answered with some heat. “So I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

Stan lathered his hair in the conditioner and shrugged. “I don’t know.” A fog had begun to descend over his brain, clouding his thoughts in a drowsy sluggishness. “I feel like I should probably be crying right now. I mean, I saw some really fucked up shit. My mom and Shelly are dead. But it’s like, I don’t know. I just can’t cry anymore.”

He poured the last of the water over Kyle, rinsing out his hair and washing away the remaining soapy bubbles. He picked up the rag from the ground and tossed it over Kyle’s head.

Kyle scrubbed at his hair for a second then pulled the rag down to his shoulders. His hair had bounced up some but the curls still hung loosely to his jaw, dripping. His eyebrows turned up in concern but he still somehow found it in him to smile.

“I know what you mean. Seeing my dad like that really, uh, killed me. But my mom and Ike are still out there somewhere. And so is your dad and other people we know. But even more than that we’re both still here. Can you imagine if we hadn’t been together when this whole thing happened?”

Stan began to imagine it but it was too terrible to comprehend. No Kyle by his side through all of this? He was pretty sure he’d be dead by now.

“Dude, don’t even say that.”

Kyle breathed a laugh and dried himself off as best he could with the rag. “I know. Let’s promise not to split up in all of this, okay?”

“Definitely,” Stan replied, looking away as Kyle stood to fetch his clothes.

When he looked back up Kyle had pulled on his boxers and shorts. He slipped his arms through his basketball jersey and went to reach for his jacket but stopped short.

“Maybe this one needs a wash,” he admitted, lifting the bloodstained mess between his fingers and Stan was obliged to agree with him.

They dumped the jacket in another bucket of water with the bar of soap and walked back around the barn. Stan bumped shoulders with Kyle and when Kyle nudged him back a surge of fondness rose up in his chest so quickly and so strongly he thought he might go against his earlier words and break down into tears right there. Instead he blinked against the prickling in his eyes and leaned his head on Kyle’s shoulder. Kyle stiffened under his touch for a second before his body relaxed and Stan felt his hand on the back of his head.

“It’s gonna be okay, man,” Kyle whispered.

Stan closed his eyes and hummed, savouring Kyle’s touch. “I don’t know, maybe. I’m just glad you’re here, Kyle.”

The warm press of Kyle’s cheek against his head. Stan’s heart picking up in pace. Kyle’s voice thick with some emotion.

“I’m glad you’re here too, Stan.”

 

Craig laid his blanket down next to Tricia’s sleeping bag and immediately fell on his stomach. He groaned into the soft fabric, wondering if it was possible to sink into wool. He registered Tweek telling him he was going to wash his hands or something but his voice was far-off and muffled to Craig, who just grunted in response.

“I’m going to sleep for a week,” he said into the blanket.

He sensed someone sit down beside him and a moment later heard Tricia’s sardonic voice.

“You can do that when you’re dead. Now sit up, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Craig didn’t sit up but rolled onto his side. Tricia rolled her eyes but reached up to her throat and unzipped her jacket. What Craig saw had him scrambling up to his knees. Tucked into a fanny pack buckled around her hips was a little fuzzy shape. It stuck its nose out and squeaked, and Craig just about collapsed into coos.

“Stripe!”

Tricia pulled her out of the pouch and placed her in Craig’s eager hands. Craig lifted the squirming guinea pig up to his face, Stripe’s whiskers tickling his nose. A wave of emotion Craig hadn’t expected rose up in him and he hugged Stripe to his chest. Tricia was giving him a knowing smile but he didn’t care enough in that moment to call her a little shit.

“I thought you’d be happy to see her,” she said, smirking. “She was the only thing I managed to get from home.”

“And my katana, apparently, you little thief,” he snapped back, but he wasn’t really mad.

Tricia crossed her arms. “What? You look like you’re doing just fine without it. Don’t be butt-hurt just because I get to be Michonne and you’re stuck as Negan.” She reached into her sleeping bag and pulled out Craig’s old, blue hat. She pulled it on without a glance at him.

He stared at her, pausing in his petting rampage of Stripe. “And my hat? Don’t you own any of your own stuff?”

Again Tricia rolled her eyes. “If you really want to we can trade.” She pointed to his red baseball cap.

“Nah,” Craig said after a second’s thought. “You can keep it. That thing’s old anyway.”

“Hmph.” Tricia stood abruptly. “I’m going to see what Tweek’s doing. Try not to drool too much over Stripe.”

She left and Craig rolled onto his back. He set Stripe down on his chest and smiled at her beady, little eyes. He’d gotten his sister back, sure. But Stripe was here. That was what really mattered.

 

Tweek kept it together until he was out of sight of the others. He ducked behind a hay bale then fell, like the strings holding him up had suddenly been cut, to his hands and knees. He scuffed his palms on the wood and the him from two days ago would’ve worried about splinters but he was currently being bombarded with images of decaying bodies and the memory of a gun in his hands. All the strength that had flooded him at his house had been sapped the moment the truck took off.

He knew he should be happy, and he was. Kenny, Wends, Karen, _Tricia_ , they were all alive. But he couldn’t find it in him to celebrate. His insides were churning as though a fist were squeezing his guts.

He hugged his stomach and bent over until his forehead was pressed to the ground. He let the familiar shakes wash over him, his muscles twitching and convulsing.

_Ohgodohgodohgodohgo-_

“Tweek?”

He snapped his head around to look over his shoulder and saw Tricia. She hovered around the edge of the bale, staring at him with concern.

“Tweek, are you okay?”

Tweek dug his nails into his palm until they pierced the skin. He tried to force his breathing under control but his heart was beating madly in his chest.

“I’m— _ergh!_ —fine.”

His eye was twitching and he slapped a hand over it to try and quell the muscle.

“You don’t look fine,” Tricia remarked, stepping over to him. She knelt in front of him until her eyes were level with his. “What’s the matter?”

_“Everything!”_ Tweek burst out. His words rang out loudly and he sucked in a breath, lowering his voice. “Everything’s the matter! I keep trying to hold everything together but it’s not working. I’m trying to protect Craig but I can’t even do _that_. He would’ve died back there if it weren’t for Kenny and Butters. I can’t do anything right!”

He fisted his hands in his hair and viciously tugged. The old pain in his scalp flared and he heard the snaps as his fingers pulled free. He stared down at the clumps of hair in his hands for a second self-loathing like he hadn’t felt in years crawled up his throat. With a disgusted cry he threw his fists down on the floor and pounded his head against the wood over and over-

“Hey! Stop it!” Tricia grabbed his shoulders and forced his head up. “Stop that. Giving yourself brain damage isn’t going to make you a better zombie fighter.”

Tweek pushed her hands away and scrabbled back until there were a few feet of distance between them. He sat back and ducked his head, unable to meet Tricia’s gaze.

“You shouldn’t be trying to help me. Not after what I did.” Tears, painful and salty, sprang to his eyes. “I killed your parents,” he confessed and the tears streamed down his face. “They were dead and they came back as zombies and I- I shot them. Oh God, I shot them! They were always so nice to me—way nicer than they needed to be—and I fucking shot them. I— _agh!”_

He curled in on himself, his whole body wracked with sobs and spasms. Over and over again he felt the weight of the gun, heard the crack of the shots, saw the blood spurt from Thomas and Laura’s heads. He couldn’t erase the look on Craig’s face as he’d looked down at his parents’ graves. And it was all because of him.

Weight slapped down on his shoulders, making his head bolt up. Tricia was inches from him, her hands glued to his shoulders, and her eyes steadied on him.

“If that’s true than I’m glad you did it,” she said, not wavering. “I don’t want my parents to be zombies. Besides, they were already dead when you got to them, I left them alive.”

“Tricia,” Tweek chided, pushing his own nerves to the back burner. “You couldn’t have done anything, you’re just a kid.”

“Well, so are you,” she retorted, her eyes flashing. “We’re all kids and we’re fighting fucking zombies.”

“Watch your language, young lady,” Tweek said and Tricia laughed.

“Oh yeah? Or what? You’ll tell Craig?”

Tweek hummed in consideration. “Okay, good point.”

They both laughed then and Tweek felt some of the tension in his body leak away. He wanted to hug Tricia then. She’d always been like the little sister he’d never had. Actually the Tuckers had felt like the family he’d never had.

“Hey, listen,” he said and she closed her mouth. He brushed the strands of his own hair off on his pants and sighed. “Don’t tell Craig you saw me like this, okay? I can’t have him worrying about me right now.”

Tricia frowned. “Tweek-“

“No. Craig-“ he bit off a frustrated breath. “I can’t be the weak one anymore.”

Tricia laid her hand over his forearm. It was such a gentle move from such a tough girl.

“I don’t think you’re weak,” she said.

Tweek smiled at her with a fondness he could never put into words. He stood up and let her take his hand as she led him back to where Craig was nuzzling Stripe.

 

Butters was ready to curl up on a patch of hay and sleep for eternity but the moment Wendyl sat down it was all business. They called everyone around to sit in a circle and Butters suppressed a groan, knowing they weren’t going to suggest they roast marshmallows or play duck, duck, goose.

“So, here’s the plan for tomorrow,” Wendyl said, without introduction. “At the crack of dawn we go back to Stan’s truck, gather all the supplies then sort them out back here. It’s great to have a base but we need to be able to move at any time, so we’ll have to divide the essentials between us. Anything we don’t have, we’ll get in town tomorrow.”

“We’re going back to town?” Butters burst out, earning him several looks. His face heated up but he continued, albeit with less volume. “Why’re we goin’ back so soon? Don’t we have enough stuff to last us out here for a while?”

“After we take an inventory we’ll have a better idea of what we need, but we’re not just getting supplies.” Wendyl’s dark eyes met each of theirs in turn. “We need to search for other survivors. We were actually checking houses when Karen spotted you guys. There could be others that need our help.”

“Splitting up into stealth teams is probably the best way to go,” Kyle said, nodding along with Wendyl. “We have designated areas of the town to search then converge on a meeting point.” He gasped in excitement. “We could carry _maps_.”

Kyle and Wendyl dissolved into strategy talk, seeming to forget the rest of them. Butters watched as they scooted closer together until they were knee-to-knee, animatedly talking and gesturing, never breaking eye contact. He let out a knowing sigh.

Those two had always been two peas in a pod when it came to thinking. Their brains never switched off and whenever they were together, talk always turned to some topic Butters couldn’t keep up with, like world politics or economics. Between the two of them, and Token, they were smarter than the whole town combined. Kyle must’ve been pleased to have someone he could discuss their situation with and not have to mince his words, likewise with Wendyl. It saved the rest of them from having to hear about the most efficient ways to ration food, or something asinine like that.

Looking around the circle he could see the others were feeling the same as him. Karen and Tricia were making up some elaborate handshake, Stan looked like he was trying not to fall asleep, Tweek was squirting sanitiser over every inch of his bare skin, Craig was tickling his guinea pig, and Kenny was just leaning back and smiling at the roof. He closed his eyes as though he were basking in the simple pleasure of listening to his friends debate the most efficient route to search the town.

“Anything anyone else would like to add?” Wendyl asked, snapping Butters back to attention.

“Uh, yeah,” Craig said, raising his hand. “When are you two going to fuck and get it over with?”

Butters, along with several others, snorted and Kyle gave Craig a dirty look but Wendyl went on as though he hadn’t spoken.

“Anything else anyone would like to add that isn’t completely moronic?”

Kenny hopped up to his feet. “Yeah, I’ll take first watch if everyone’s cool with that.”

No one objected and took this as their cue that their meeting was adjourned. They dispersed to their respective sleeping places and collapsed with mumbled words of ‘good night’. Tweek and Craig snuggled up under a blanket beside Tricia’s sleeping bag. Karen climbed onto a bale of hay and pulled up the hood of Kenny’s old parka before curling up on her side. Wendyl and Kyle sat up, pouring over the map by the light of an oil lamp. Stan’s head lolled onto Kyle’s shoulder and stayed there as he began to snore. This didn’t appear to disturb Kyle, who went on discussing with Wendyl like nothing had happened.

Wendyl tossed Kenny their watch and told him to set an alarm for ninety minutes. Kenny saluted then climbed up the ladder through the drop door to the roof. His cape disappeared up the hatch and Butters debated going to bed. He shook his head and ascended the ladder after Kenny.

Kenny sat cross-legged with his sniper in his lap and a pair of binoculars around his neck. His hood was down, letting his choppy, blonde hair flutter in the evening breeze. Butters put his boot up on the creaking wood of the roof and Kenny turned his chin to look.

“Hey, Leo,” he greeted, smiling easily. “Come to keep your old pal, Kenny, company?”

“Well, sure,” Butters said, his stomach fluttering the way it did every time Kenny called him ‘Leo’. “It looks awful lonely up here.”

“Nah.” Kenny waved away the notion. “Not lonely. Peaceful.” He turned back to his watch and Butters settled down behind him. Kenny leaned back until their backs pressed together, holding each other up. “Even though I’m s’posed to be looking out for zombies, this place is real beautiful.”

Butters had to agree with him. Rolling green hills and tress were spread out in every direction. The mountains cut across the horizon, their snow-capped peaks brushing the clouds. Stars twinkled above them in the thousands, winking bright against the endless black of the sky. It was crazy to think that such danger lurked in such beauty, like a sour cherry in a fruitcake.

“You know I gotta tell ya, Ken, I’m real scared,” Butters confessed, hugging his knees to his chest.”

“I know,” Kenny said, his voice soft. “We’re all scared.”

“But I can’t help feelin’ useless,” Butters grumbled. “Everyone else is so tough, and I’m so…not.”

Kenny shifted against him and Butters wished he could see his face. “Aw, don’t say that. You’re tough as nails!”

“You’re just sayin’ that to make me feel better.”

“No way. Anyone who can fight off zombies with a spoon is pretty tough in my book.”

“I don’t think I killed a single one of ‘em. You shoulda seen Tweek and- and Kyle. They were tearin’ through ‘em like animals. Craig too. Even Stan was doin’ pretty well for himself.”

Kenny hummed and Butters felt the vibration against his back. “I saw a little.” He chuckled and the breathy sound went straight to Butters’ head. “That chainsaw’s really something. Goes right through ya.”

This comment struck Butters as odd but he was used to Kenny saying weird things out of the blue.

He’d always liked Kenny, looking at him as one of the only other genuinely nice kids in town, but Kenny had spent a large majority of his childhood with Stan, Kyle, and Eric, and no one else. It wasn’t until high school that these strict friendships began to loosen and Kenny began to hang freely with most kids in their grade. He’d roped Butters into a lot of his social escapades, bringing him along to group activities with his old group and Craig and those guys. He’d had a way of settling Butters’ nerves and helping him mesh with other people his own age, something Butters had always struggled with.

Even now, in the midst of all the chaos Kenny was trying to cheer him up. It struck a chord in Butters that thrummed through his chest pleasantly.

“I can see what you mean though,” Kenny said. “Weapons do count for something. Here.” His hand appeared at Butters’ side, holding a pistol.

“Jesus!” Butters jumped a little, looking at the gleaming metal. “I- I can’t use a gun.”

“Sure, you can. Come on, you’ll rest easier knowing you’ve got it.”

Butters gulped but reached out with a shaking hand and took the gun. It was heavy in his hands and he held it gingerly, afraid he might set it off somehow.

“We’ll do some target practice tomorrow,” Kenny promised and Butters just nodded.

“Won’t you need it, Ken?”

“Nah. I’ve got this guy.” He waggled the barrel of his rifle over Butters’ shoulder. “And these guys.” He jiggled a pouch on his hip and something metal tinkled inside.

Butters raised an eyebrow. “What’s in there?”

“Ninja stars.”

Butters hand flew to his face. He rubbed the skin below his left eye, feeling the rough texture of the scar beneath his fingers.

“Well, they’re sure affective,” he murmured and Kenny huffed an awkward laugh.

“Yeah, I’m still sorry about that by the way.”

“I’m sure you are.”

 

Butters went silent behind him and Kenny loosed a long breath. They sat in the quiet of the night, staring out at opposite ends of the farm.

In truth, Kenny liked it better this way. He’d always thought people talked too much, so when everyone shut their mouths it created an atmosphere of content. He rubbed at the handles of the rifle in his lap.

He wanted to tell Butters that he wasn’t alone in his fear. Kenny had already died once in this plague. When they had first come, seemingly springing up over night like fast-growing weeds, they’d attacked his house. His dad, half conscious in a drunk stupor, had blasted a few with his shot gun before they’d swarmed him. His mom had followed suit as the three siblings fled to the back yard. There more zombies had flooded in through the open side gate. He and Kevin had picked up a couple of plastic baseball bats and tried to fend them off but it was no use. Kenny had yelled, told Kevin to take Karen and go, but Kevin, in his noble stubbornness had refused to abandon him. This had resulted in Kevin being ripped apart by clawing fingers and open mouths, ready to feast on his guts. Kenny has used the last of his strength to throw Karen, screaming, over the back fence. After that he’d allowed the tide of reanimated corpses to descend on him.

He shivered as phantom teeth bit into his arm, raising gooseflesh. He was just thankful they’d finished him off instead of leaving him as half a zombie.

This whole apocalypse stretched before him like a long road of death. He was already so tired. But as much as he wanted to lie down and never get up he still had hope.

That hope was his sister, sleeping beneath the roof he was sat on. It was Wends and Tricia trusting that he had their backs and him knowing they had his. It was Stan and Kyle flinging themselves at him and crying like he was the best thing they’d ever seen. It was sitting on that roof, leaning against his back.

“So, does Karen know you’re Mysterion now?” Butters asked, breaking the silence that had settled over them. “I’m guessin’ she must.”

Kenny looked down at the M on his chest. He still wasn’t sure why he’d grabbed his old Mysterion digs when he’d come to in his room after the attack. Maybe it was to try and spark some of that strength he’d felt whenever he donned the costume and took to the streets. He supposed South Park still needed Mysterion. Maybe now more than ever.

“Yeah, I told her a while ago,” he said. “I thought she’d be really mad at me for keeping it a secret for such a long time. I think I was also worried that she liked Mysterion more than she liked me and if she knew who I was, she’d be let down. But that wasn’t how it happened.” He smiled fondly at the memory, of Karen’s little gasp when he’d pulled his hood down. “She actually said that we were her two favourite people and having us be the same person just made me even more special.”

“She’s always been so nice. Just like you.”

Kenny laughed at that. Always trust Butters to make you feel like a million bucks.

“Nah, she’s way nicer than me. I guess I just try not to be a dick, but she’s got a good heart.” Kenny leaned his head back until he was resting on Butters’ shoulder. He batted his eyelashes at the other boy. “Just like you.”

Butters laughed and shoved him back. They sat there, their laughs mingling together under the moonlight. Kenny thought about all the torment that was sure to await him in the coming future, but he thought if he could keep Butters laughing, he could get through it. There was something there on the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for more blood, guts, drama, and teen angst!


	5. Previously, on Days of Our Lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flash-back time! I started writing this intending to just show a snippet from Kyle's life before the incident but then it morphed into more. So now we have this. Enjoy!

Kyle tried to keep his hands steady by tucking them between his knees. He stared at the ground between his sneakers, concentrating on keeping his feet still so his rubber soles didn’t squeak against the lacquered floorboards. He glanced up at the receptionist—Doris? Gladys?—but she seemed to have forgotten he was there.

When he’d first shuffled in she had swept her stern eyes up and down him before asking in a very dull tone, “Can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Kyle replied, hands in his pockets. “I’m here to see my dad.” When she stared at him blankly he added, “…Gerald Broflovski?”

“Oh, yes.” Her eyes finally lit up with some recognition. “Funny,” she said as she punched away at the phone beside her keyboard, “I didn’t know Mr Broflovski had another son. Oh, well.” She drummed her fingers on her desk as the phone rang, Kyle fidgeting the whole while. Eventually his dad seemed to pick up. “Yes, hello, sorry to bother you, Sir, but your son is here to see you…The tall, ginger one…Uh, huh.” She put her hand over the mouthpiece and looked at Kyle. “He wants to know what this is about, exactly?”

“It’s family business,” Kyle answered, pleased with how strong his voice came out. “It’s important.”

She looked unimpressed but repeated this into the phone. Kyle could just hear the faint buzz of his father’s voice through the receiver, and even that was making his palms sweat. The receptionist put down the phone and told him his father would get to him as soon as he could.

That had been almost an hour ago now.

Kyle knew he shouldn’t be nervous but he was. Dinner the previous night had been eventful, to say the least. After weeks of deliberation the moment had sprung on him as his parents and brother sat around him, chatting casually and eating steak. Yes, that was the perfect time to tell them all he was bisexual.

Well, ‘tell’, was being generous. In reality he’d blurted it out, unprompted, and almost caused his mother to choke on a mouthful of meat. Ike had blinked at him, nonplussed, and his dad had just appeared shocked. Kyle could still see his eyes, creased at the corners with age, trained on him. After Sheila had caught her breath she’d first and foremost reassured him that she and his father (and God) all still loved him. Then she’d launched into a million questions:

“Are you sure? How long have you known? Why didn’t you tell us sooner? Are you seeing anyone right now?”

Kyle had answered all these as best he could, ignoring how much he wanted to crawl under a rock and die. Despite the occasional chuckle, Ike stayed quiet, continuing to eat his dinner like this was all completely normal. Kyle kind of loved him for it.

Once his mother had asked every invasive question possible she seemed to calm down and relax a little more, and Kyle knew he was over the worst of it. During all of this, however, his dad had disappeared. When Kyle went upstairs looking for him and knocked on his parents’ bedroom door his only reply was loud snores.

When he woke up the next day his dad had already left for work, leaving Kyle to stew in feelings of uncertainty, and if there was one thing he hated more than anything, it was doubt. So, he figured, why not visit his dad at the office? Why shouldn’t he? He was his dad, after all. These were the things he was meant to come to him with.

Still, when the receptionist finally permitted him to go through, he didn’t feel the ease he would have liked. Instead, that accursed doubt nipped at his heels, following him like a heavy cloud as he opened the door marked _Broflovski_.

Gerald was sat at his desk, papers spread out before him as he typed away on his laptop. His blazer was too big and bulky on his thin shoulders, his hands, long and spindly like Kyle’s, looked like hooked claws sticking out from his cuffs. He didn’t look up from the screen as Kyle closed the door.

“Hey, Dad,” Kyle greeted, at a loss for what else to do.

“Kyle,” Gerald said, finally glancing up and acknowledging him. “What is it? I’m pretty busy right now, you know.”

This was a line Kyle had heard many times in his life. He was pretty sure it was the most common line of speech his father had ever said to him. That and, “Listen to your mother.”

“Uh, sorry,” Kyle swallowed, lowering himself into one of the two chairs across from his father’s desk. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

Gerald raised both bushy eyebrows. “And it couldn’t wait ‘til tonight?”

“I just…wanted to talk to you.”

Gerald sighed and closed the lid of his laptop. He leaned back in his plush, leather chair and gave Kyle a curt nod. “Okay, then. What do you want to talk about?”

“Well,” Kyle said, licking at his dry lips, “about last night, I-“

The creak of the door swinging open had Kyle jumping in his seat. He spun around to see the blonde head of Bebe Stevens peeking into Gerald’s office. She had a glossy, pink smile on her face and a steaming mug in her hand.

“Coffee, Mr. Broflovski?” she chirped and Kyle’s mouth fell open.

“Oh, yes, thank you, Bebe,” Gerald said, his smile to her warmer than anything Kyle himself had received in years.

“Bebe?” Kyle blurted out. “What’re you doing here?”

Bebe’s pretty eyes finally landed on him, as though she’d just noticed his presence. “Oh, hey, Kyle.” She bounced through the door, her kitten heels clip-clopping on the hardwood floors. She set the mug down in front of Gerald then straightened up, smoothing down her skirt. “I’m interning here. If I want to study law and pass the bar test someday I’m going to need the experience and knowledge to do it. There’s only so much you can read in a book.”

She had that ambitious twinkle in her eye Kyle recognised whenever she was leading her team of cheerleaders at the courtside. Bebe had always possessed a keen focus that allowed her to succeed in whatever ventures she took upon. He knew that if she were to ever turn that focus to academics he and Wends would have a run for their money as the town nerds. He just wasn’t too thrilled that she was apparently interning for his father.

Gerald took a sip of his coffee and nodded with a smile to Bebe. “That’s right. She gets hands-on experience with the legal system, and in return Dorothy and I get her lovely company.”

Bebe returned his smile, but it was tight at the corners and didn’t reach her eyes. “Just call me if you need anything else, Sir.” As she breezed past him her hand grazed Kyle’s shoulder. “See you at school, Kyle.”

Kyle listened to the clip-clop of her heels and the swing of the door closing. He didn’t look away from his father, who was humming with contentment as he gulped down his coffee.

“Mmm. I don’t know what it is about intern coffee that makes it taste so good,” Gerald mused.

“Maybe it’s the unpaid labour,” Kyle quipped, feeling a pounding throb forming at his temples.

“Hmm, could be.” Gerald set the mug down and folded his hands on his desk. “So, you wanted to talk.”

Kyle blinked, pushing the beginnings of a migraine away. “Uh, yeah. So, about last night-“

“Anything else you wanna talk about?” Gerald quickly cut in. “No big sports game on T.V.? Or school? Or something? Don’t you have a debate team thing this week?”

”That was last month,” Kyle mumbled, the first traces of ire leaking into his system. He shook his head, aware of his father’s tactics of distraction, and focused on why he’d come here. “Look, I just didn’t really get to talk to you after Mom started asking all that stuff and I just wanted you to know that I’m still me, I guess? And, like, this doesn’t affect my faith or anything, if you’re worried about that. I don’t-“

“Kyle, I already know all that,” Gerald sighed, rolling his eyes slightly. “The reason I didn’t talk to you about any of that last night is because I really can’t express to you how much I don’t care.” That shocked Kyle into silence, while Gerald continued, his voice laced with exasperation. “Like, you’re bisexual? Whoop-dee-do, good for you. I know being fourteen-“

“I’m fifteen.”

“-you’re full of all these hormones and you just wanna make-out with everything. I get it, okay? I’d thought you’d at least wait until college to experiment-“

“I’m not-“

“-but, whatever, that’s you. What do you want me to say? I still love you? Okay, I still love you. I don’t see you any different, yadda, yadda.” He lifted the lid of his laptop back open and eyed Kyle expectantly. “Are we done here?”

Kyle was still as a rock in the chair. He couldn’t speak. His brain was playing static and everything he’d planned to say flew out his ear. The annoyed look his dad was giving him was making him want to crawl under a stone and die.

Instead he just slowly nodded and left the office, the tapping sound of his dad typing showing him out.

 

Tweek’s fingers flew across the various knobs and valves of the espresso machine with ease, the whistling puff of steam and grind of coffee beans as familiar to him as the sound of his own breathing. He poured the milk into the paper cup until hot coffee hit the brim, flicking his wrist to create the pretty leaf pattern on the foam. He placed the cup on the counter, the warmth of it seeping into his perpetually cold fingers.

“Susan?” he called out, reading the name written in black sharpie.

Just as a woman approached the counter he heard a voice call from the back room.

“Tweek!”

Tweek jumped at the sound of his own name. The voice, so recognisable, startled him more than he’d ever thought possible. He hesitated for a moment, frozen in surprise until the same voice echoed.

“Tweek! Now!”

Tweek threw a glance at the shop—no customers waiting o be served—and dashed through the employees only door, into the storage room. The was the same old jars and boxes full of coffee beans and teabags, long crates of pastries waiting to be put behind the display glass, at the smell of it all that clung to Tweek’s hair and clothes. He was accustomed to all this. What he had grown continuously distant to was the sight of his father.

Richard Tweak looked as he always did, with his warm, brown sweater, worn jeans, and leather shoes. His easy smile, which Tweek had always found incredibly insufferable and fake, was stretched across the skin of his face as he peered over a stack of boxes in his arms to look at him. His eyes, though they were the same smooth brown they’d always been, looked different somehow. The wrinkles around them were more pronounced, perhaps, or more sunken into his head. His hair was a little longer too, and his jaw, which he kept diligently shaved, was spattered with stubble. All around, he looked exhausted.

“There you are, son,” he said, adjusting his grip on the boxes. “Come give me a hand with these, would you?”

“Dad,” Tweek said, stunned. He paused only for a moment before his father began to frown and Tweek hurried forward to take one of the boxes. “What’re you-? I didn’t know you were back yet.”    

The box was surprisingly light and Tweek loaded it onto the shelf his father nodded at. His father who, until just now, had been on a prolonged business trip to Brazil for the last couple of months.

“I flew in this morning,” Richard said, stretching his arms above his head. Tweek heard his bones pop. “I’m just here to drop these off, then I’ve got to go back to the docks.”

“The docks?” Tweek echoed, blinking. “Why?”

Richard gestured to the boxes now stored on the shelf. “We couldn’t fly these on the plane, they had to be taken here by boat. I’ve been waiting to fly home so I could intercept them as soon as they arrived.”

Tweek was trying to keep up with this explanation but the more his father talked the more confused he became. “But why? What are they?”

“Lots of things,” Richard said, patting a box proudly. “Some plants, herbs, beans—even insect shells—that we picked up in the rainforests. Locals brew them into lots of things, and they taste great. This should give us the edge we need over any other coffee house in town.”

A sharpness glinted in his eye and just the look of his father’s face made him wary. Everything about his father and business made him wary.

Richard clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Right, well I’ll be back soon.”

He turned to leave and Tweek sucked in a breath and threw out his hand. “Dad, wait!”

Richard paused and turned back to face him, looking expectant. “Yes?”

Tweek swallowed and tugged on his apron. He’d almost gotten used to his dad not being around and now, to have him back so suddenly once more, it was as though he’d forgotten how to speak to him.

“Well, it’s just I- I’ve been working a _lot_ while you’ve been gone—like, every day actually—and I haven’t really, uh, gotten to do, um, anything. And, see, Craig invited me to go on this camping trip with him and Stan for a couple of days and I was— _geh!—_ thinking, now that you’re back and it’s not just me and Mom here, that I could go?” His father’s answering blank stare had Tweek scrambling to say, “I just thought it would— _ngh!—_ be nice to get away just for a few days. And I’d be right back! I just miss Craig and-“

“Now, son,” Richard interrupted, patting Tweek on the shoulder. It was probably meant to be an affectionate, fatherly gesture, but it only made Tweek squirm. “What’s the most important thing?”

Tweek already felt himself deflating. “Family,” he sighed.

“That’s right. And in this family we own a _family business_. You’re mother and I have worked hard building this place from the ground up, all so you can have a secure future.”

There were so many things Tweek wanted to say. That he’d never asked for any of this, that he didn’t want this to be his future, that working in this family business made him want to stick a fork in his eye. But he swallowed it down and stayed silent, trying not to twitch too much under his father’s grip.

Richard, who was only an inch taller than Tweek’s short stature, levelled a serious look at him. “I don’t want you getting distracted and neglecting your duties.”

“Craig doesn’t distract me!” Tweek said louder than he probably needed to. Richard eased back to blink at him and Tweek continued in a more appropriate volume. “He’s been really great, helping me with my homework and stuff.” _‘Cause I haven’t had time to do it myself_ , he refrained from saying. “Please, Dad, it’ll only be for a couple of days.”

Richard rubbed at his chin, humming thoughtfully. “I suppose if you put in a few extra hours we can make it work.”

Tweek sighed with relief, his heartbeat easing up before he went into cardiac arrest. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Of course.” Richard beamed and slapped his shoulder before dropping his arm. “You’ve probably earned a little treat. But don’t get too used to it. With these new ingredients business will be picking up and we’ll need you here more than ever.”

In that moment Tweek didn’t care about work, he’d pull all the extra hours he needed to. He was going to get away from home and be with Craig, which was all that mattered.

But as he wiped down the counter and table tops, little seeds of doubt began to fester in his mind. Was this what the rest of his life was going to be? Slaving away in the coffee shop, only getting rare snippets of time to spend with Craig, doing nothing but studying and finishing homework when they were alone? He couldn’t imagine this was the relationship Craig wanted. Really, it was only a matter of time before Craig began to resent him for being nothing but an anchor dragging him down. It would take Tweek to cut him loose.

Tweek thought of the easy smile Craig reserved for only him and bit his lip. He tried to focus on nothing but cleaning but he was haunted by thoughts of Craig and his parents.

It was only a matter of time before one won over against the other.

 

Stan kicked the door shut with a heavy sigh. He shuffled the soles of his shoes against the welcome mat, brushing off shards of ice and clumps of loose snow. As he trudged over to the stairs he spotted his dad seated on the couch, the top buttons on his shirt popped, his legs thrown open, and a beer in his hand. Stan stared at his feet as he passed him, hoping to escape.

“Stan!”

Stan froze, internally sighing. He turned slowly at the foot of the staircase to face his father, who was looking at him with a bleary smile.

“How was school, bud?” Randy asked, before burping.

People always loved to tell Stan he was the spitting image of his father, and though he loathed admitting it, they were right. Looking at Randy was like looking at a sad, depressing funhouse mirror version of himself. It made Stan tired just to look at him.

“Fine,” he said, and then walked up the stairs.

He should have probably been making more of an effort to be nice to his dad—he was lending Stan his truck after all—but smiling when he didn’t want to exhausted him more than anything.

Once he reached his room, he kicked off his shoes and spilled the contents of his bag onto his desk. Stan fell back into his chair and tipped his head back to loose a breath at the ceiling. He stayed like that for half a minute before sitting up straight again.

Stan stared down at the collection of pamphlets spread across his desk. He’d acquired quite the variety at all the little booths set up for Career Day at school: doctors, firemen, police officers, accountants, computer programmers, and an array of other careers Stan didn’t care about. All were brightly coloured with pictures of handsome, smiling men printed above lines of text promising long, and fulfilling futures. Stan had spent the majority of the day following Kyle around and picking up whatever brochures he did from the many booths he visited. At the end of it he and Kyle had skipped stones at Stark Pond and sipped beers Stan had swiped from the fridge.

It hadn’t been such a bad day, all things considered.

He sat with his legs folded up on his swivel chair, tuning his guitar and humming along to a Smiths song he’d had stuck in his head all day, as he stared at the pamphlets apathetically. The moment he’d walked through the door his mom had asked him how Career Day had gone, and if he’d found anything that interested him, and what was Kyle thinking of doing after school?

Sharon had always had something of a soft spot for Kyle and was probably just as invested in his future as she was in Stan’s. It made Stan roll his eyes, but not too hard.

He’d babbled something about just how great Career Day was before dashing up the stairs to his room before his dad could see him and try to drum up a conversation. As soon as the door shut behind him he’d let out a huge sigh, all the tension of the day melting off his shoulders. Now his pants were off, his guitar was in his hands and all was right with the world.

Truthfully, Stan didn’t know what the hell he was going to do with his life. With no clear goals, plans, or ambitions, he thought of life after high school with the same dread of an approaching doctor’s appointment. He was only sixteen so he contented himself with knowing that was a problem to be faced another day, but also knew that one day he would have to confront it. He wasn’t like Kyle or Wendy, who had clear, direct ideas for where they wanted their lives to head and had the determination to make it happen. He just knew the things that made him happy in the present.

He thought back to skipping stones with Kyle. The afternoon sun glittered like diamonds on the water, and nestled into his skin. Kyle’s hair was lit up all bright and coppery, and the light was catching in his brown eyes. He was grinning away, cracking jokes about the pushiness of the dentistry representative, and they were both laughing. The sound of their laughter mingling together in the open air was one of Stan’s favourite sounds, and that, combined with the pleasant fuzziness of the beer, had him feeling like nothing on Earth could be more perfect than that moment.

Stan caught himself smiling at the memory as his fingers caressed the strings. No future could compare to that. If Stan had his way everything would stay exactly as it was right now.

 

Craig’s fingers shook from the cold as he stuffed them in his pockets and power-walked down the path, away from the McCormicks’ house. The wind bit right through his fingers, freezing his bones, but he had no gloves to warm them up.

Correction, he’d _had_ gloves but when little Karen McCormick had answered the door for her play date with Tricia in a too-thin coat and bare, shaking hands, Craig had decided he could make the walk home without them and presented the pair to Karen as a late birthday present. Despite Karen’s birthday having passed two months ago and the odd look she’d given him she’d accepted the gloves. She wasn’t at the age yet to resent people’s sympathy, like Kenny or his older brother, and for that Craig was at least thankful.

Now, thanks to his good deed, his was shuffling down the street with his hands in tight fists, trying to fight off the frostbite threatening to seep into the digits. All he wanted was to get home, bundle up under his blankets and face time with Tweek. Tweek, who he’d soon be spending an unsupervised weekend with camped out in the woods. He’d have to deal with Stan making goo-goo eyes at Kyle and listen to their dumb banter but if he could spend time with his boyfriend, he could tolerate those idiots. He’d so rarely gotten to see Tweek, who slaved away at his parent’s coffee shop, lately, so this promised time for the two of them was really lifting his mood. Nothing could bring him down-

Craig was suddenly ripped free of his reverie when a large weight barrelled into him, almost sending him sprawling on the sidewalk.

“Hey, what the fuck!” he yelled, rounding on whoever had so carelessly ploughed into him. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going, you-!”

Whatever he was going to say was brought up short when he saw Eric Cartman hunched over across from him.

Cartman was bundled up in a huge windbreaker and earmuffs, the top half of his face just visible over the top of large box he was carrying in his arms. He blinked his odd-coloured eyes—one brown, one blue—at Craig and broke into a huge, plastic smile. Just the sight of Cartman’s face turned in his direction made Craig want to puke.

“Craaaig,” he began, the noise of his own name immediately grating on Craig’s ears. “What’s up, man?”

Craig said nothing, only stared Cartman down, unimpressed. Cartman didn’t seem to mind Craig’s silence.

“Just chillin’ out? That’s cool. You’re, uh, probably wondering what’s in this box, huh?”

“Nope,” Craig replied, considering just sidestepping Cartman and walking off.

Cartman hefted the box up higher, his chin smooshed against the top of it. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool and top secret, but totally classified so, sorry I can’t tell you.”

“I don’t care,” Craig said, going to walk around him but Cartman scrambled to stay in front of him on the path.

“Well, actually I think you do,” Cartman said, his eyes twinkling.

Craig knew what Cartman wanted, he’d played this game before, but had sworn off ever entertaining Cartman’s dumb ideas or giving him the attention he so desperately wanted ever again. And it seemed he wasn’t the only one who’d had enough of Cartman; even his band of merry idiots—Stan, Kyle, and Kenny—had gradually distanced themselves from him over the years. It kind of made them bearable to be around, especially Stan, who was almost cool.

But ever since being ostracised by his childhood friends Cartman had become even more strange and unstable. He continued pulling elaborate stunts to garner the eyes and ears of his classmates. Whether it was starting an international war, leading rallies against the political enemy of the week, or just being a dick at school, he tried everything. Sometimes he succeeded, but more often than not, he failed. In Craig’s eyes, the enjoyment of his life went up the more his interactions with Cartman went down.

Cartman waggled the box under Craig’s nose. “Anyone would be dying to know what’s in here.”

Craig looked down at the box; really it was more of a crate. Thin wooden panels all tied together with twine. Over the noise of the wind whistling in his ears he could just make out the faint sound of scuttling from within. He had to admit that was strange by anyone’s standards.

He could question the A. M. initials written on the crate’s side, or the wet mud on Cartman’s boots, or the bolt cutters poking out of Cartman’s backpack. If he were someone with a single investigative bone in his body he would ask questions.

But instead Craig said, “Not me,” and passed Cartman by without a second glance, leaving him to shout obscenities at Craig’s back.

Craig didn’t care, though. The was no force powerful enough on this Earth to get him to involve himself with Eric Cartman, no matter how much Cartman called him a dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there's two things I love it's introducing characters and threading in cryptic plot lines.


	6. Homeward Bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our crew is trying to establish some semblance of a routine/plan. This will clearly only go well.

The first thing Kyle was aware of when he woke up was a solid weight on his chest. He blinked his eyes open, squinting against the sunlight streaming in between cracks in the roof. He yawned and rubbed the gunk from his eyes, then glanced down.

Stan was curled around his side, an arm and a leg thrown over Kyle, and resting his head on his chest. He wasn’t wearing his hat so his black hair fanned out over Kyle’s collar, tickling his neck. Kyle lifted his own arm from around Stan’s shoulders, where he’d been hugging him close, and Stan stirred. He whined and burrowed further into Kyle, pulling him closer and tucking his head under Kyle’s chin. Kyle, laid flat on his back, was unsure of what to do.

He couldn’t remember falling asleep the previous night. He remembered talking strategy with Wendy until Kenny and Butters had climbed down from the roof. Wendy took the next shift and told Kyle to take a leaf out of Stan’s book and get some rest. Stan had been snoring against his shoulder for some time so Kyle had eased them both back onto a sleeping bag and that had been it.

It didn’t surprise him that he’d fallen asleep beside Stan. Just days ago they’d shared a snug tent, and they’d been sleeping in the same bed for years, whenever they slept over at each other’s houses. But this wasn’t a snug tent or one of their houses; they were in a barn, surrounded by people.

Kyle peeked over Stan’s head but saw little movement. Karen was sitting in some hay, fiddling with a sewing needle but other than her everyone else was still sleeping.

Kyle poked at Stan, who just grunted and hugged him tighter. “Stan. Dude, wake up.” Stan was practically on top of him now, his weight pressing down on Kyle not unpleasantly but enough to make him feel hot. “Seriously, Stan, get up.”

He was pushing at Stan’s shoulders when Wendy dropped through the roof. They landed with a light thud on the wooden floorboards and took a swig from a metal thermos. They glanced over and their eyes locked with Kyle’s. They looked at Stan, nestled on top of him, then back at Kyle with one brow raised.

“Um,” Kyle stammered, sure his face was now beet red. “He’s a, uh, heavy sleeper.”

It was at that moment that Stan jolted awake. He snorted and his eyes flew open, blinking blearily at Kyle. Recognition flashed in his gaze and he eased up on his hands and knees until he was straddling Kyle, who now had a view of Stan, flushed and panting, hovering above him. It wasn’t doing wonders for the heat in his skin. Stan’s head whipped to the side and he saw Wendy standing there, looking at them, unperturbed.

“I, uh…” Stan blustered, head swivelling back from Wendy to Kyle.

Wendy took another sip from their thermos. “You guys should get up and have some breakfast, we’ll be leaving for town soon.”

They sauntered off, climbing down the ladder and leaving them alone. Stan scrambled off Kyle and fell back on his ass. Kyle sat slowly upright. Despite the full sleep he’d gotten his body still felt sore and fatigued. He was tempted to ask Stan if he wanted to just fuck going into town and go back to sleep. But that would be ridiculous so he refrained.

“Do you think they were mad?” Stan asked, glancing in the direction Wendy had vanished.

“Why would they be mad?” Kyle answered, stretching his arms above his head and feeling several bones pop.

Stan shrugged. “I don’t know…”

Karen skipped over to them then, a small bundle of brown leather in her hands. She stopped in front of Stan and held it out to him.

“Stan, I made you this,” she chirped.

It looked like a bunch of belts sewn together, with a holster on the back. Stan blinked at it, looking bemused.

“Uh, thanks, Karen. What is it?”

“It’s a harness for your gun,” she replied, and Kyle wondered if he’d ever heard such a sweet voice talk about guns so casually. “So if you need to use your hands you don’t have to, like, put it on the ground or something.”

A little smile played on Stan’s lips as he pinched the leather between his fingers. “Wow, that’s so cool. You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“It’s okay. I like making stuff.” She held it over his head and nodded at his jacket. “Now put it on, please.”

Stan obediently shrugged off his hoodie and Karen lowered the harness over his head. It took a few goes for Stan to figure out which openings were for his arms and where to put his head but he got it after a minute. Karen tightened the straps so it fit Stan’s torso snugly, the holster flat between his shoulder blades.

“Okay, now one last thing,” Karen said, picking up Stan’s shotgun. She placed it in the holster and it slid perfectly into place. “There. That’s it.”

Stan stood up and rolled his shoulders. He reached over and whipped the gun out like a sword from a sheath. He struck a pose and pointed the barrel at Kyle.

“Stick ‘em up,” he ordered in a gruff voice.

Kyle held his palms up and laughed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t trust you enough with that thing to not accidentally shoot me.”

Stan rolled his eyes good-naturedly and slipped the shotgun back into the harness. “God, first it was my driving, now it’s my shooting? You just have no faith in my abilities, do you?”

“Not when those abilities can kill me,” Kyle answered, rising to his feet and dusting himself off.

Stan stroked the straps running across his chest and grinned. “It’s pretty cool though, right?”

“Oh yeah. Very Ash Williams.”

“Ha. Yeah.” He patted Karen on the shoulder. “Thanks, Karen. This is really great.”

Karen beamed up at him. “You’re welcome.”

They descended the ladder and sat themselves on the logs Wendy had set up outside the barn. A fire burned inside a ring of stones, boiling whatever was in the pot hanging over it. Kyle shivered, his bare arms chilled in the early morning cool. He remembered his jacket, soaking in a bucket of water and slapped his forehead.

“Ugh. My jacket.” He ran his hand up to his hair, where his fingers promptly got tangled.

“Here, dude,” Stan said, holding out his hoodie. “Just wear this. I’m fine.”

“Thanks,” Kyle said, accepting the fleece. Normally he would’ve argued but he was cold enough to bite his tongue. He slipped his arms through the fleece, warm from Stan’s body, and sighed. “I’ll be back in a second,” he told the others and walked around the barn to find the bucket.

He lifted his jacket out of the pink water and wrung out as much as he could. The blood had stained it in places but it was definitely better than it had been yesterday. He clipped the jacket onto a nearby clothesline, then made his way back to the little campfire.

When he got there everyone else had roused themselves and were gathered around the steaming pot. Kyle immediately went to Stan, who shuffled over on the log to make room for him. Wendy served black coffee into a couple of chipped mugs and told them to pass it around.

“Okay,” Wendy muttered, pulling a notebook out of their pocket and scribbling something down. “More cups and plates.”

“And spoons!” Tweek paused long enough from gulping down coffee to interject. “And forks, and knives, and bowls, and-“

“Yeah, I got it,” Wendy snapped, stuffing the notebook back in their pocket. “More stuff to eat with.”

Tweek zipped his lips and passed the mug along to Craig, who didn’t even look at it as he passed it straight to Tricia. When it came to Kyle there was hardly any left. He considered how the hot drink would warm his insides but then he glanced at the grey fleece lining his arms. He gave the mug to Stan, who blinked at him.

“Are you sure? You can have it if you want.”

“No, it’s fine. You have it.”

Stan eyed him dubiously a moment longer before he brought the mug to his lips and drank. Kyle watched his throat bob and thought about what it would be like to bite it. Would Stan whine as he scraped his teeth over his Adam’s Apple?

Kyle ripped his gaze away and stared intently at the grass between his feet. God, he was a freak. He shouldn’t have been having these thoughts about his best friend, who he wasn’t even certain liked guys.

_But the kiss-_

No. Stan had made it abundantly clear that had been a spur of the moment thing, brought on by stress and hot blood. If he could’ve heard the things bouncing around Kyle’s head he’d probably never speak to him again.

_Just cool it, Broflovski._

He looked up to see Wendy dump some packets of macaroni into the now coffee-free pot. They placed the lid on top and spun around to face the group.

“Alright. Karen and Tricia, you guys stay with the fire. The rest of you, we’re going to the truck to gather supplies.”

 

As to be expected, Craig bitched the whole way. Kyle could only take so many complaints about how sore his feet were, and how cold it was, before he snapped and told Craig to stick a cork in it. Craig responded by flipping him off and asking who pissed in his cereal. This irked Kyle, who shoved Craig, who shoved him back. They probably would’ve started wrestling if Wendyl hadn’t bopped them both on the head with their selfie stick.

“Ow!” Craig rubbed his head and glared at Wendyl. “That hurt, you dick.”

“That’s the idea.” Wendyl swung the selfie stick over their shoulder and jumped the fence they’d passed yesterday. “Now shut up or both of you are getting black eyes.”

Kyle massaged the lump growing on his scalp and shot Craig a look. Craig gave it right back to him and they turned away from each other, grumbling. They all followed Wendyl over the fence, and the pick-up and motorbike came into view.

Stan leaned over and spoke into Kyle’s ear. “Why’re you and Craig always fighting?”

“Because he’s a little bitch,” Kyle replied, climbing into the back of the truck. “We might be buddies but when the time comes I’m going to serve his ass to him on a silver platter.”

Craig snorted as Kyle threw a backpack down to him. Kenny climbed up beside Kyle and hefted up a surplus bag.

“For what it’s worth, I think you could take him.” Kenny slapped his shoulder and passed the bag to Stan, who began sifting through its contents.

“You’re kidding, right?” Craig scoffed. “You couldn’t beat me in a thumb war, never mind a real fight.”

Kyle picked up a garbage bag and rolled his eyes. “You beat me in one thumb war when we’re ten and suddenly you think you’re Floyd Mayweather. Stan.” Stan glanced up from the packet of cheesy poofs he’d found. “What would win: a chainsaw or a _bat?_ ”

 Craig caught the bag Kyle threw to him then immediately dropped it to put his hands on his hips. “If we were to ever hypothetically fight it wouldn’t be with weapons. It’d be man-to-man, with fists.”

“The title of your sex tape,” Kenny quipped, earning him a few sniggers, and a choking noise from Tweek.

Kyle slapped Kenny’s palm and Craig levelled a look at each of them.

“Anyone else want their ass kicked?” he asked.

Wendyl pinched the bridge of their nose. “God, do you guys ever shut up?”

“I thought it was pretty funny,” Butters said to Kenny, and Kenny grinned back at him.

“Let’s just gather as much as we can and go,” Wendyl sighed, slinging a duffel bag over their shoulder.

They started back towards the fence and Craig called at their back, “Good to know you’re still Captain Buzzkill, Wends.”

Wendyl gave Craig the finger without turning around.

“Hey man, that’s not cool,” Kenny frowned at him. “They’ve been through a lot with all of this.”

“Yeah?” Craig hefted a backpack over his shoulders. “Tell them to get in line.”

Kyle blinked at the bitterness in Craig’s voice and cut a glance to Tweek, who was looking at Craig with concern wrinkled on his brow. On that cheery note, they set off back for the barn, their earlier jovial conversation gone.

 

Wendy over-saw the itemising and distribution of their supplies. They stood on a log, scribbling down in their notebook as the others sifted through the bags they’d brought back from Stan’s truck, calling out their contents to Wendy, who took stock. Already Wendy was splitting their supplies into different categories, thinking of who should carry what and cross-referencing everything with their ‘need to get’ list. They were aware they were being ‘bossy’, a word that had always been thrown in their face whenever they’d become too vocal for some people’s liking, but they didn’t care. Right now they needed organisation, leadership, and Wendy knew they could provide that.

Besides, having something to do kept their mind from wandering to darker places. Right now they had goals, objectives to accomplish, targets to acquire, and that demanded their full attention.

_You’re avoiding your issues_ , their rational side said.

_I am not_ , Wendy snapped back at themself. _I’m being productive. Now fuck off._

“Okay, let’s go over this one last time,” Wendy said to the group, ignoring their own intrusive thoughts. Everyone turned their heads and Wendy cleared their throat, reading from their notebook. “Craig, you’ve got your dad’s surplus bag with a flashlight, water bottles, a first-aid kit, a zippo, and a swiss army knife.”

“Check,” Craig said blandly, giving a thumbs-up.

“Okay.” Wendy checked off the list. “Tweek, you’ve got the backpack, the hygienic supplies, canned goods, and a rope.”

“Roger,” Tweek saluted.

Another check. “Good. Kyle, you have snacks, a lighter, some clothes, and bullets.”

 “I do,” Kyle replied, zipping up his duffel bag.

“Awesome. And Stan, Kyle has all your shit.”

Stan slapped Kyle on the shoulder. “He sure does.”

Kyle shoved him with a grin and they both laughed. Wendy made a point of clearing their throat and the two snapped back to attention.

Craig raised his hand. “Suggestion: can we just make Kyle a pack horse?”

“Suggestion denied,” Wendy said curtly, ignoring the sneer Craig aimed at them. “Okay, next. Kenny, you’re just carrying weapons?”

Kenny leaned back against a log and yawned. “Yeah, I don’t want to be carrying anything too valuable. I’ll probably loose it.” He pulled his hood over his nose and closed his eyes, firmly exiting the conversation.

Wendy sighed and scribbled ‘WEIRDO’ down next to Kenny’s name. “Right then. Butters, you’ve got the hiking bag with the blanket, more canned goods, a roll of aluminium foil, the binoculars, and ten boxes of hamburger helper?”

Wendy peered over their notebook at Butters, who smiled brightly.

“That’s right!” he gave his bag a hearty pat. “It’s real yummy!”

Kenny, eyes still closed, grasped Butters’ shoulder in support.

Wendy shook their head and continued, “Tricia, you’ve got snacks, water, pet food, and your dead cell phone.”

“And Karen’s doll,” Tricia added, earning her a big smile from Karen.

Even Wendy cracked a smile at them. “Of course. And Karen, you’ve got some Snap-N-Pops.”

“Aye, aye, boss,” she said, and gave the Wakandan salute.

Wendy returned the gesture. They made several more checks in their notebook. “And I’ve got rations, a battery pack, clothes, and this guy.” They snapped the book closed and tucked it back in their pocket. “Which means we need-“

“More batteries, more flashlights, medicine, food, yadda, yadda, we _know_ ,” Craig groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Can we just go so I don’t have to listen to you anymore?”

The poke of annoyance Wendy had felt morphed into anger. They felt themself grinding their teeth and forced their jaw to relax. They placed their hands on their hips and glared down at Craig from their vantage point on the log.

“Oh, because you’re being so helpful, right?” Craig lowered his arm enough for Wendy to aim their leer at his eyes. “Why don’t you quit your bitching and moaning, and actually try to contribute something?”

“Yeah, Craig,” Tricia barked, cuddling Stripe under her jacket. “Stop being such a dickwhipe.”

“So I’m not helpful now?” Craig lurched to his feet, his blue eyes murky and lidded. “I guess everyone missed that part where I caved in about fifty heads, huh?” He swiped up his bag and bat and stalked off in the direction of the truck. “Yeah, I’ll just go since I’m so unhelpful.”

Wendy thought about calling out for him but they were still pissed so, being the petty person that they were, they stayed quiet.

Tweek staggered to his feet and made to follow Craig. “Craig! Come ba-“

“Don’t bother with him, Tweek,” Tricia cut in, grabbing onto Tweek’s pants as he tried to walk past. “He’s just in one of his pissy moods. He’ll get over it.”

Tweek watched Craig go but didn’t try to follow him. Wendy wondered if Tweek knew Craig enough to know that Tricia was right. Wendy had never been that close to him, personally, so it was hard to say. All they knew was that Craig had been snippy all morning and was glad he wasn’t in their travelling party.

 

As soon as Stan closed the driver’s side door he let out a huge sigh. Kyle shut his door beside him and let his head fall back against the chipped leather seat.

“Tell me about it,” Kyle groaned. “Fucking Craig, making things weird.”

“He just gets like that sometimes,” Stan said, feeling the need to defend Craig. “And he’s probably worried about Clyde and-“

“Yeah, we’re all worried.” Kyle dragged a hand over his face and sat upright. “Let’s just get moving.”

Stan turned the key in the ignition and the engine revved to life. He glanced over his shoulder at his other passengers as he pulled onto the road. Craig, Tweek, Kenny, and Wendyl were all sat in the back, while they’d left Karen, Tricia, and Butters to ‘guard the barn’. Really Stan knew Craig and Kenny wanted to keep their sisters safe, and everyone thought Butters would be more useful out of the way.

They drove, listening to the same guy talk about the situation in South Park. After toying with the radio Stan had come to realise that all other channels outside of town were no longer broadcasting. The guy who they’d been listening to was a South Park resident, using his own equipment to broadcast on the air. This meant one of two things to Stan: either the zombie virus was contained in South Park and the world wasn’t doing anything to help, or the rest of the world was already destroyed and South Park was the last of the human race left standing.

The latter chilled Stan to his very bones. He couldn’t even consider it.

After a few minutes of this, Kyle hit a button and switched to the CD player.

“Dude, what’re you doing?” Stan asked. “My dad doesn’t have any CD’s in here.”

Kyle rifled around in his bag before he latched onto something and pulled out a familiar CD case. Kyle grinned at the look on his face and Stan clamped his mouth shut. Stan reached for the CD but Kyle snatched it away and slid the disk into the player.

“Is that…?”

“Yep,” Kyle affirmed, hitting play. “ _The Stan and Kyle Set List Extravaganza_. Never leave home without it.”

Stan was still in shock when the opening chords to the first song began to play through the speakers. Kyle nodded along in his seat and hummed to the guitar. He was smiling openly and Stan couldn’t help but smile too. Not only had Kyle kept the CD, but he’d also thought to grab it when he ransacked his house. It almost made up for the silver glittering around Kyle’s throat.

They both opened their mouths at the same moment and sang to the stereo.

 

_“Ooo, you make me live,_

_Whatever this world can give to me,_

_It’s you, you’re all I see.”_

 

Stan shoved Kyle away as he clasped his hands and batted his eyelashes at Stan. He was grinning so widely his cheeks hurt.

 

_“Ooo, you make me live now, Honey,_

_Ooo, you make me live.”_

 

Stan slung an arm around Kyle’s neck and pulled him close. He took his eyes off the empty road to look at Kyle, who grinned back at him.

 

_“Ahh, you’re the best friend that I ever had._

_I’ve been with you such a long time,”_

 

Stan pinched Kyle’s cheek.

 

_“You’re my sunshine.”_

 

Kyle pushed him away, laughing, and almost missed the next line. He and Stan threw their hands over their hearts and looked at each other as they sang.

 

_“And I want you to know that my feelings are true,_

_I really love you.”_

 

Kyle leaned across the seat until their shoulders were pressed together and Stan leaned his weight on him.

 

_“Ahh, you’re my best friend.”_

 

The back window slid open and Craig stuck his head in. “What the fuck are you two doing?”

They were snorting with laughter before the words were all out of Craig’s mouth. Stan almost hit a tree and had to hold the wheel with both hands to keep the truck straight. It was difficult, with Kyle stuck to his side and shaking with laughter. He shoved at Kyle’s head, sending the other boy back to his side of the truck.

“Put on your seatbelt,” Stan ordered, still tittering at Craig’s unimpressed reflection in the rear view mirror.

They sang the rest of _You’re My Best Friend_ until they crossed out of Farmer Denkins’ land and began the decline down the long road to town. The next song played through the speakers and Kyle gave an amused huff.

“You remember this one?” he asked and Stan nodded.

“Ugh, how could I forget? Cartman spiked the punch with laxatives. I’ll never be able to hear this song without remembering the smell of shit.”

It had been the Sadie Hawkins dance in eighth grade. Stan had already been reluctant to go but Wendy had been adamant about middle school rituals, so Stan had ironed his best shirt, suffered through his dad attempting to tie his tie, and had his mom drop him and Wendy off at the school. He’d been miserable until Kyle had shown up with Annie on his arm. They’d caught sight of each other and subtly ditched their dates.

They’d snuck out the back of the gym and let off strings of firecrackers Kyle had gotten from Kenny. It had been nice, the two of them laughing over the little pops and sparks, the music from inside pouring out for them to bask in. They’d been humming along to the tunes when the screaming had started. They’d rushed back in to see their classmates running around the gym in distress, stampeding for the bathrooms, clutching their guts and releasing their bowels. In the middle of it all had been Cartman, writhing on the floor in laughter.

Ever since then _Drop it Like it’s Hot_ had been forever tainted. At least he and Kyle had been able to laugh about it. Wendy, not so much.

The song faded out as Stan drove them onto the town’s central road. They had cleared the copse of trees lining the countryside and were into the open air. Stan could see the town landmarks from there; the library, the school, houses he’d walked past every day. But not a sound came from the streets.

“Okay, pull over here,” Wendyl called out and Stan obliged, steering the truck to the snow-crusted grass.

Wendyl had already explained the plan in great detail to them all. They were to leave the truck on the outskirts of town and continue on foot, so as not to bring unwanted attention to themselves. They would split up into two groups and begin their search for supplies and survivors. When Wendyl had said this Stan and Kyle had immediately stepped closer together, communicating to each other and everyone else that they would be in the same group. Wendyl had joined them, saying it was a good idea to keep one fire-armed person with each group, so Kenny and his rifle were to go with Tweek and Craig.

They all climbed out of the truck and Stan considered whether or not to lock it but decided the odds of a car thief coming their way were slim. He pocketed the keys and approached his party. Kyle was slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder and lifting his chainsaw out of the back.

“You’re not taking that thing, are you?” Stan asked, eying the bloodstained saws.

Kyle hefted the weapon up and Stan thought he might kiss it. “Of course I am. It’s my self-defence.”

“Aren’t we aiming for subtlety?”

“Dude, if we get into a situation where you need a shotgun I don’t think subtlety is going to be our top priority.”

Wendyl slipped their selfie stick into their backpack and sighed. “Let’s just try and get through this without going all Leatherface, okay?”

Kyle made a noncommittal sound and lowered the yellow safety goggles over his eyes. Stan fought off the grin that threatened to form at the look Wendyl gave him.

Wendyl passed a walkie-talkie to Craig, warning to only use it for important transmissions. It was huge and bulky, like something from an era long-since passed, but Stan supposed if it did the job it didn’t matter. Butters, Karen, and Tricia had another such walkie-talkie back at the barn but Wendyl said once they ventured into South Park they’d be out of range from them. Stan hoped nothing would happen that would make that little issue a big issue.

“Okay,” Wendyl said, rolling their shoulders, “let’s get this show on the road.”

They started for the town and Stan went to follow when Kenny stuck his hands out.

“Wait.”

Everyone turned to face him, confusion on their faces. Stan eyed the other boy up. His friend, who was staring at them, his hands hovering hesitantly in the air. Kenny’s grey eyes looked troubled and Stan couldn’t think of what was on his mind, but Kenny had always been something of an enigma. Even through all the years they’d been friends something about Kenny had always made Stan look at him twice and pick apart his words, as though something elusive lurked behind that easy smile.

Kenny ran a gloved hand through his messy hair and spoke to the ground. “If anything goes wrong, if something happens to me and I…change, I want you guys to end it.” He turned his head up then and looked each of them in the eye. His gaze seared into Stan when he faced him. “You have to kill me if it happens.”

“Jesus, Kenny,” Tweek shuddered. “Don’t talk like that, man. If we stick together-“

“You have to listen,” Kenny cut in, his voice steadily growing louder and more desperate with each word. “Sticking together is great but if I go down _you have to kill me_. I can’t be left out there like the rest of them.”

Kyle frowned. “Dude-“

Kenny rounded on him. “Promise me.”

Gone was the typical joking tone. Kenny didn’t blink as he stared down Kyle, who looked back at him, stunned.

Kenny gripped his arm and Stan could see how tightly he was holding him.

“ _Promise me_.”

Stan was used to intensity from Kyle, who had never mastered the art of subtlety when it came to his emotions. The same could be said for Cartman. But Kenny had always been different. He’d always been one to roll with the punches, letting life’s inconveniences roll off him like water off a duck’s back. Though Kenny could be hot-tempered, for the most part he was pretty mellow and tried his best to steer clear of drama. So for him to be staring them down and demanding promises of his death was startling to say the least.

Kyle’s throat bobbed as he swallowed and nodded. “Okay, dude, geez. I promise.”

Kenny, satisfied with this, turned his eyes around the group, waiting until they’d all promised the same thing. When he turned to face Stan some of that hardness melted from his gaze.

“I swear you wanna die sometimes,” Stan said, his voice shaking.

Kenny’s mouth quirked up at the corner and he patted Stan on the shoulder, his gloved hand slapping on impact. “Only sometimes.” He winked then strolled over to Tweek and Craig.

“Okay then,” Wendyl said. “If everyone’s done with the funeral arrangements, let’s get back to the task at hand, shall we?” They hooked their arms through the loops of their backpack and marched to the front of the group. “Everyone, try not to die, okay?”

With this, they split off, Craig, Tweek, and Kenny heading off in one direction, and Stan, and Kyle following Wendyl in another. As the figures of his three friends slowly disappeared Stan tried to quell the nervous beating of his heart. He told himself they’d be fine. They’d all be fine. They had a plan and they were going to follow it. It didn’t stop him from worrying though. Was that how things were going to be now? Every time someone was out of sight he’d be fretting over them like lost chipmunks in the woods? He didn’t think he could handle the stress of thinking up every horrible possible death that could befall any of them at any time.

Stan found himself naturally drifting to Kyle as they walked. He almost couldn’t seem to help it; he simply felt more at ease at Kyle’s side. Maybe it had something to do with the chainsaw in his hands but Stan suspected it was the calming effect Kyle had always had on him. The sound of his voice as he talked about random, pointless shit, just to fill the air with something put his mind at rest.

It wasn’t until Wendyl sneezed that Stan even remembered they were there and berated himself. Was he being rude? When he glanced at Wendyl they were staring blandly ahead, their eyes only flicking to Stan when they noticed him staring. They raised an eyebrow and Stan quickly turned away. He put a bit of space between him and Kyle as they continued.

They passed several zombies as they walked, but the undead paid them no heed. It was as though they were cloaked in some invisible force field. The zombies barely reacted as they went by them, and the ones that did were so slow and sluggish in their movements that they didn’t even have to speed up to get clear of them. Stan had never loved the daytime more.

They came upon their first stop: Whole Foods. The empty aisles, still stocked to the teeth with groceries were eerie as they stepped inside. No shoppers assistants greeted them, no one was stationed at the checkouts, no people milled about the shelves with their shopping carts and screaming children. It was dead quiet.

Kyle went to the produce section while Stan followed Wendyl to gather toiletries.

“Do you still use Lynx?” Wendyl asked, holding up a can of deodorant.

Stan shrugged. “Uh, yeah. That or Axe.”

Wendyl rolled their eyes and tossed the can into their backpack. “Why am I not surprised?”

As Wendyl rifled through rows of toothpaste Stan held their bag open and cleared his throat.

“So, hey,” he began, already feeling the heat creeping up his neck, “about this morning—we just fell asleep like that, okay? Me and Kyle aren’t- we don’t, like, sleep together or anything.”

“It wouldn’t bother me if you did, Stan,” they sighed, packing a few tubes of Colgate.

Stan tried to detect any snark in their voice but was coming up zilch. “We’re not, but I just wanted to make sure you weren’t, like, upset or anything.”

Wendyl rose to their feet, one hand going to their hip. Their face wore an expression of vague annoyance. “Why would I be upset?”

They didn’t wait for Stan to answer and continued to stroll down the aisle. Stan jogged to catch up with them, his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum floor.

“I just- I know it’s been a while since we broke up but I don’t want you to think I’m with anyone, ‘cause I’m not.”

“Stan.” Wendyl’s voice was laced with exasperation. “I don’t care if you’re dating someone. It’s not going to hurt my feelings if you get with Kyle.”

“But I’m not with Kyle,” Stan pressed.

“Oh, my God.” Wendyl stopped in their tracks and spun their brown eyes, so dark it was hard to distinguish the iris from the pupil, on him. “When we broke up I told you it was for the last time, and I thought you were on board with that.”

“I was. I am,” Stan assured them and he knew it was true.

He and Wendyl had decided they weren’t right for each other and Stan knew if they stayed together eventually they’d get married and their on-again off-again relationship would extend through their adult lives until they were divorced and remarried over and over again until the day they died. It was a viscous cycle he and Wendyl were caught in, and they made up their minds to end things for good before they completely ruined whatever relationship they could have.

“Okay, good,” Wendyl said. “Than you need to let go of any assumptions you have that we’re going to get back together. Because we aren’t. So, don’t feel like you have to walk on eggshells around me. If you want to be with Kyle, go right ahead.”

“That’s not what I-“

The loud blare of an air horn drowned his voice, and he and Wendyl jumped at the sudden noise.

“Sorry!” came Kyle’s voice a few aisles down.

“Jesus Christ, Kyle!” Wendyl gasped, a hand over their heaving chest. “You almost scared me to death, you asshole.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Kyle called out and Stan could hear the squeak of his shoes coming near. “I stepped on it.”

Stan’s own heart was thundering in his chest as he followed Wendyl around the corner.  He had the view of the supermarket for a moment, bread and canned beans on one side, cartons of milk on the other. A moment later Kyle appeared, strings of red liquorice hanging from his mouth. He smiled when he spotted Stan, the candy bobbing between his lips. Stan answered with his own wavering smile.

Wendyl leaned over until their breath was on Stan’s ear. “Just so we’re clear: you and Kyle? No problems.”

Stan jerked back and nudged them with his elbow. “Yeah, thanks, Wends, I got it.”

Wendyl grinned and nudged Stan back, their dark eyes winking with mischief. Stan rolled his eyes but found himself smiling anyway. Even though he didn’t miss dating Wendyl, he did miss them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter was a bit more chilled out, but I promise more zombies are to come in the next one.


	7. Zombies, Aisle 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, sorry for the wait on this chapter. I want to thank everyone who's read and left kudos and comments. I will be finishing this fic so don't worry about that, it might just be a bit slow going. I've been excited for this chapter for a few reasons: some conflicts I've been building up to and maaaaybe some more characters introduced hehe. Happy reading!

“Okay, Butters,” Tricia said, “pick a colour.”

“Oh, geez,” Butters fretted, staring nervously down at the paper chatterbox in her hands. “I don’t know…Karen!”

“Yeah?” Karen looked up from where she was serving her doll tea with the empty kettle.

They were seated around the campfire, which Butters was slowly keeping alive with bundles of sticks.

“What’s your favourite colour?” he asked.

“Hmm,” Karen tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Probably green.”

“Okay, well, let’s do green then.”

“Green. G-R-E-E-N.” Tricia opened and closed the chatterbox, counting with each letter. She finished the word then opened a flap coloured with a yellow crayon. “Ouch,” she winced, reading what was hidden. “You marry Craig. Sorry.” She turned the little pyramid around to show a crudely drawn picture of Craig with his tongue sticking out.

“Darn it!” Butters pounded his fists against his knees. “That’s the third time I’ve married Craig.”

“We could try again,” Tricia said then aimed a smirk his way. “Maybe this time you’ll get the groom you want.”

Butters whole face lit up and he quickly turned away but he could still feel Tricia’s sly eyes on him.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he huffed. “I don’t want any groom.”

“So does that mean you don’t wanna play again?” Tricia asked, waggling the chatterbox and Butters crumpled.

“No, no! I wanna play again!”

Tricia smiled triumphantly and Karen leaned over to murmur, “my other favourite colour’s yellow.”

 

They were three stops in and Craig was ready to take his bat and smash his own head in. They’d been to the drug store and found all the medicine Wendy had listed, they’d passed Kevin Stoley’s house and found the corpse of his father, and now they were at the electronics section of a Wal-Mart, ransacking the place for batteries. Throughout all of this Tweek had been holding his hand, his thumb gently stroking his knuckles. He kept leaning over and asking Craig if he was okay, and if something was bothering him, and he knew he was here for him, right?

If Tweek offered anymore soft reassurances he was going to explode. It didn’t help that Kenny wouldn’t stop whistling.

“Hey, guys,” Kenny called, pausing in his whistling rendition of the opening tune of _Highway to Hell_. “I think I’ve got enough batteries to power the sun. Are we gonna leave soon?”

“Why?” Craig muttered as he sifted through camcorders a few rows down. “So we can go back out there and find more people we used to know dead or eating children? Sure, sounds like a blast.”

Kenny cleared his throat and fell silent.

Craig stuffed a memory card into the camcorder in his hand with enough force to snap the thing in two. His chest was bubbling with anger and he didn’t know what to do with it. He almost wished they could find a horde of zombies just to give him something to smash.

A sharp jab to his ribs had him spinning around to see Tweek glaring up at him.

“What?” he spat, nursing the bruise Tweek had inflicted in the same spot the previous day.

“You’ve been snapping at Kenny all day,” Tweek whispered furiously, “and it’s not cool.”

“Oh, sorry, did I hurt his feelings?” Craig rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the camcorder. “I’ll make sure to send him a fruit basket. Hopefully he can find it in his heart to forgive me.”

“And your smart-ass comments aren’t helping,” Tweek snapped.

“It’s cool, Tweek,” Kenny’s voice floated over to them. “Don’t worry about it.”

Craig heard him sigh then felt his arms loop around his waist. Tweek’s head thumped against his back and Craig stared forward. “I know you’re upset and that’s okay. I’m here for you.”

Craig’s eyes twitched and he peeled Tweek’s fingers off his stomach.

“Would you stop it?” Craig bit out. The sound of Tweek’s tender voice, like he was trying to placate a baby to go to sleep grated on his ears. “Just- enough, okay?”

He didn’t look at Tweek, instead flipping the camcorder on and peering through the feed. When he did steer the camera Tweek’s way it was to find his hands on his narrow hips. He panned up and Tweek’s blazing eyes filled his vision.

“What’s the matter with you?” he hissed. “I’m just trying to comfort you.”

“I don’t want you to comfort me,” he replied coldly.

His whole body was numb. He wanted nothing right now. Nothing at all.

“Uh, guys?” Kenny said but Craig could barely hear him; he was focused on Tweek’s shaking fists.

“You’ve been acting like an insufferable dick all day,” Tweek shouted, pointing a finger at Craig’s nose. “And not just to Kenny—to Kyle, and Wends, and me too.”

“I’m a dick, am I?” Craig pressed the camera to Tweek’s face and he batted it away. “Sorry, I’m not a field of daisies right now—I’ll be sure to pretend like everything’s fucking peachy.”

“Guys, there’s kind of a-”

“I know how you feel, Craig,” Tweek said imploringly, his hands reaching out to Craig’s wrists.

Craig jumped back before he could touch him, swivelling the camera back onto his beseeching eyes.

“No, you don’t,” Craig barked, his throat threatening to close up. “You have no idea how I feel!”

“My parents are dead too!”

“Ugh, who cares? They were assholes anyway.”

_“Craig!”_

Tweek stared at him with open shock, which only pissed Craig off even more.

“Well, it’s true! No one’s gonna miss those douchebags. I actually lost people who cared about me.”

Just when he thought Tweek might take a swing at him Kenny’s voice shattered the air.

_“GUYS!”_

They rounded on him and shouted in unison, “WHAT?”

Kenny was stood in the middle of the open floor staring up at the ceiling. He pointed to the roof panels.

“I think there’s something-“

The roof shook and a panel slipped loose. It fell end over end and landed flat on top of Kenny, squishing him like a bug. Craig caught the splatter of blood on camera as he was instantly crushed.

“Oh, my God!” Tweek screamed at the same time Craig made a muffled choking sound in the back of his throat.

They didn’t have time to mourn Kenny, however, as zombies began falling through the newly made hole. They flailed as they fell, some shattering into pieces on impact, but most picking themselves up and dusting themselves off like the twenty-foot drop was a minor fall. They lumbered towards the two of them, their hands outstretched in grotesque claws.

Craig looked about for his bat but couldn’t spot it. Tweek leapt into motion without him, swinging his axe through the neck of the nearest zombie, a teenager wearing a Wal-Mart uniform. The head bounced along the ground to Craig’s feet. He stuck his tongue out and kicked it away with disgust.

“Bleh.”

“ARGH!” Tweek screeched, cleaving through limbs, spraying black blood all over the clean floors.

Craig, with nothing but the camera in his hand, raised it, trying to follow Tweek’s movement through the lens. He looked like an action hero as he swung his axe with his scrawny arms, fearlessly screaming down at the yawning maws all around him.

“Hey!” he yelled when he spotted Craig. “Don’t film me, asshole! Do something useful.”

Craig glared through the lens but snapped the camera shut and dropped to his knees, searching for his bat.

“Don’t call me an asshole, dick,” he retorted, crawling down the aisle and catching glimpses of Tweek’s boots as he hopped about the zombies.

“I’ll call you whatever I want, you fucker!” Tweek shouted back. “I can’t believe you said that.”

Craig’s eye finally landed on his bat, nestled beneath the aisle barrier. He stretched for it.

“Actually, I can,” Tweek quipped and Craig rolled his eyes. “’Cause you’re a fucker.”

His fingers curled around the handle and Craig swiped the bat up. He jumped to his feet and saw Tweek standing atop a display table of flat-screen T.Vs, beating back the decaying hands reaching for him. Craig ran through the stream of zombies, beating them back as he jumped for Tweek. He landed beside him on the display with shaky feet. He almost fell into the arms of a snarling undead grandma but Tweek caught the collar of his jacket and hauled him upright.

“I think I’m allowed to be a fucker,” Craig said over his shoulder as he swung at the clawing crowd. “Everything’s _fucked_.”

The barbed wire stuck into the rotting flesh of his targets, peeling away skin with each swing and exposing oozing organs and yellow bones. Tweek’s axe sliced cleanly through soft muscle, leaking pools of dark blood by the gallon. Drops of it were streaked across his cheeks and over his goggles.

“You’re allowed to be sad,” Tweek yelled back at him. He leapt right to avoid the swiping hand of a balding Wal-Mart employee. His shoulder bumped Craig’s, almost knocking him side-ways. “But that doesn’t mean you can take it out on me or anyone else.” His eyes were a green inferno behind his goggles.

“I’m not sad!” Craig hurled his bat with such force the impact caved in the Wal-Mart worker’s head with a sickening, wet squelch. “I’m pissed!”

Tweek’s back flattened against his and they fought the surging tide of zombies advancing on them from all sides, their arms heaving in the rhythmic unison of a bloody orchestra.

“At who?” Tweek shouted. “Me?”

“At everything, but yeah, you too!”

“Why?”

_“You broke up with me!”_

Craig staggered forward, kicking T.Vs down on the zombies, knocking them back. He spun around, his shoulders heaving and chest aching. Tweek stared at him, shocked into stillness for a moment as he took Craig in with his eyes.

Craig raised his dripping bat and levelled it at Tweek. “You tried to end us. You only took it back because the goddamn world ended.”

“ _That’s_ what you’re upset about?” Tweek snapped back into action, smashing his axe down on a groaning zombie’s head. “Really?”

It wasn’t just that. His parent’s glassy stares still haunted him every time he closed his eyes, but if he was being honest with himself, he was still angry with Tweek. Maybe it was dumb. Maybe with everything else going on Craig was being unreasonable to focus on something as small as a break-up that had lasted all of four hours. But he was mad, damn it, and he was going to say something about it.

“Yeah, really,” Craig retorted, jumping from the display table, through the gap he’d made in the crowd. “We’ve been dating for, what? Five years? And you were ready to throw all that away because of some bullshit about the future? Seriously?”

“It’s _six_ years, not that you’d remember,” Tweek said tersely, leaping after him. “And, yeah, maybe I was freaking out a little, but I was being practical.”

“You were being a coward.”

“Well, okay then!” Tweek screeched, hefting up his axe. With the weapon in hand and the blood spattered all over him Craig supposed he looked terrifying but Craig just lifted his bat and narrowed his eyes at him. He knew Tweek too well to ever be scared by him. “Why don’t we just get everything all out in the open, huh?”

“Fine by me.”

“Fine!”

“Fine.”

Craig spotted a zombie lurching towards them over Tweek’s shoulder. Tweek must’ve read danger in his eyes because he quickly ducked and Craig swung his bat over his head, smashing the zombie across its mottled cheek. Tweek sprang back to his feet, very much inside Craig’s personal bubble.

“We’re going to break up one day. It’s inevitable. I was just speeding up the process to save both of us some heart-break.” His voice was high and jabbering, words tripping over each other in their haste.

“I would never break up with you,” Craig snarled, ducking at the waist as Tweek hacked at a zombie over his shoulder. “I’ve never _thought_ about breaking up with you. If we’re inevitably going to break up one day, it’ll be because you’re too scared of dumb shit that’s never going to happen.” He stood up and they spun around so they were back-to-back, beating the zombies from both sides.

Tweek huffed, his bony shoulder blades poking into Craig as he lifted his arms. “It’s not dumb shit! You always talk about my thoughts like that, like I’m just crazy and none of it could ever happen-“

“I don’t care about shit that could happen! I care about _you_ ,” Craig burst out.

He felt Tweek’s elbows dig into his sides and bent over, letting Tweek fling himself backwards and roll over Craig’s back, like a movie star would roll over the hood of a car. His boots thudded on the ground as he landed and Craig stayed hunched down as Tweek twirled in a wide circle, slicing his axe through flesh and muscle as he spun. His eyes rolled around, dizzy in their sockets when he stopped and Craig made sure to lean in close to his face as he spoke.

“And sometimes,” he said into Tweek’s ear, “I don’t think you care about me.”

That snapped Tweek out of it. He gaped at Craig openly and Craig only stared frankly back.

“That’s not true!” Tweek exclaimed.

Zombies were still advancing on them and Craig bashed one on the head without taking his eyes off Tweek.

“You broke up with me like it was nothing,” Craig said bitterly. He couldn’t stop talking now. He’d always had a problem with talking about his feelings and giving voice to the things that bothered him—it was one of the things Tweek constantly complained about with him—but now that he’d opened the floodgates, he couldn’t close them. “Am I really that disposable to you? Like, you can just throw me away whenever you want? ‘Cause that’s fucked up.”

“ _Craig_ ,” Tweek said desperately, as though his name were a prayer. “Of course I care about you, but there are other things-“

“I love you,” Craig stated, the bat suddenly heavy in his hands. “Isn’t that enough?”

Tweek’s eyes grew. His lip wobbled for a moment before it curled back and he swung his axe with a savage yell. Craig didn’t even flinch as the blow landed over his shoulder, though the wet squelching noise it made as it collected the face of an undead pre-teen did make him shiver. Tweek pulled the axe free with a tired grunt and when Craig turned to look he saw a sea of chopped up corpses lying in pools of black blood. Not a one of them moved.

He had barely eased his body back around to face Tweek when a heavy weight crashed against his chest and Tweek was kissing him. Craig staggered back and blinked, his brain short-circuiting as Tweek pressed against him, fisting his hands in Craig’s hair and kissing him like his life depended on it. Craig’s mind was finally catching up enough for him to realise he should probably kiss Tweek back when Tweek pulled away with a wet smack.

Craig stared at him, at a complete loss for words.

He had been somewhat self-conscious about kissing ever since he’d gotten his braces put on and had noticed that he and Tweek had made-out considerably less in the last few months than they had before. So, to have Tweek throw himself at him and kiss him like that was…something.

“Um,” Craig said dumbly and Tweek shushed him.

“I know I’ve been an idiot,” Tweek confessed, his brows knit angrily and his eyes sparkling with heat. “And I’m sorry. But don’t you think for one second that I don’t love you, Craig Tucker. I love you more than anything, and I’ll fight every fucking— _gah!—_ zombie in South Park to prove it if I have to!” He finished his speech by kicking a decapitated head across the floor like it was a soccer ball and held his fists up in victory.

Craig wished he had his camera out.

“Okay, He-Man,” he chuckled, gently grasping Tweek’s wrists and lowering them. “I believe you. But please don’t do that. We already lost Kenny; I don’t need you getting yourself killed too. Tricia would have my balls.”

They both stared mutely at the red splatter that had once been their friend and winced. That was going to be a tough one to break to Karen.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Tweek said and Craig nodded.

They picked up their packs, laced their fingers together and walked out of the Wal-Mart.

 

The firewood was heavy in Butters’ arms and it was making his skin itch but he held on as he wobbled back to the clearing. He’d left Tricia and Karen braiding each other’s hair around the campfire and, so far, he was feeling pretty good about himself. As much as he was worried about the others going into town he felt that the task he’d been given of watching over the girls was just as important.

And they were both still alive! He called that a success story.

He was mulling on these proud feelings and whistling a merry tune, when Karen’s scream pierced the air. The sound went straight through Butters’ chest and he dropped his bundle of sticks and logs and ran towards the noise.

Karen and Tricia (unharmed, thank Jesus) were stood at the edge of the fire pit, clutching at each other’s arms and staring with disgust at what had just lumbered into the clearing. Bile rose in Butters’ throat as he took in the sight.

It was a cow. Or it had been a cow at some point. Now it was a huge mass of lumbering meat and bones. It’s mouth hung open, thick ropes of saliva dangling from its lips and swaying with every laboured step it took. It was missing an eye and maggots crawled in the raw, empty socket. When it mooed the sound came out like some tortured, strangled mewl.

“Oh, geez,” Butters said, looking at it.

“It’s so gross!” Karen squealed, ducking behind Tricia, who just wrinkled her nose at the thing. “Butters, make it go away!”

This snapped Butters to attention. What was he doing just standing around? He was put in charge of these girls and, by gosh, he was going to protect them! Besides, if one hair were out of place on either of their heads than Craig and Kenny would descend on him like the gates of Hell had been opened.

He felt at his belt, his fingers brushing over the ladle still strapped at his waist, and then paused. He snapped his fingers and Karen and Tricia whipped around to look at him.

“I have a gun,” he said brightly and they both frowned. “It’s, uh-“ he looked about him but saw no sign of the pistol, “-around here somewhere. I think I mighta left it in my other pants. Hang tight, girls!”

He turned and sprinted back into the barn, leaving the girls gawking after him.

 

“Stan, I really don’t see how this constitutes as ‘absolutely necessary,” Wendy reasoned.

Stan hugged the guitar to his chest and blinked his baby-blues at them. “But I want it.”

“Just let him have it,” Kyle said. “It’ll save us all a lot of time.”

Kyle was leaning close to Stan and they both looked at Wendy expectantly. They sighed, knowing a team-up when they saw one and waved a relenting hand.

“Yeah, okay, whatever. But you’re carrying it.” Stan pumped his fist and Wendy rolled their eyes. “Let’s just get out of here.”

They walked out of Millie Larsen’s empty house, Millie’s guitar in Stan’s arms. Wendy tried not to let their disappointment show as they continued down the street, checking off houses in their search. They’d really hoped Millie, who had always been a bit of a hermit, would open her door to Wendy with a relieved smile. But no such luck. Nichole, Red, Lola, Esther—none had been home, and with every empty house Wendy’s heart sank just a little bit more.

When they walked up to Bebe’s front door, Wendy wasn’t sure they could take another blow. Bebe’s house was a familiar sight to them, the scene of many hangouts and sleepovers. They could see in their mind Bebe opening the front door with an excited gleam in her eyes, beckoning Wendy inside. But the house stood silently, staring down at them without much promise. Already their eyes were beginning to sting, but they pushed any tears down, sucked in a breath and knocked on the door.

They waited the standard ten seconds they’d allotted themself, then knocked again. This time, silence was not there to greet them.

_“Stay back!”_ a hysterical voice screamed from the other side of the door. The voice was so loud and so close that Wendy jumped back in surprise, bumping into Kyle. The door shook as the person continued to yell. “I have a gun pointed right at you and I swear to God I won’t hesitate to blow your fucking brains out!” Something thumped against the wood as it to drive this point home.

Wendy was catching their breath through this barrage of threats and once they did they stared at the door with wonder, emotion already beginning to rise in their chest.

“Bebe?” Wendy breathed. “Is that you?”

Stan and Kyle were right at their side, Wendy’s own hitched breath caught in both their throats. All three of them stared as all went quiet on the other side of the door. Wendy’s ear strained to hear hushed whispers and a moment later the curtain to their left slid ever so slightly aside and Wendy caught a glimpse of light-brown eyes. They didn’t even have time to call out before the curtain slid back and the sound of stomping footsteps thundered from inside.

A moment later the door flew open and Bebe Stevens stood panting before them.

_“Wendy?”_ she cried and the two flew at each other, colliding in a fierce hug.

Wendy clutched at Bebe’s shoulders and buried their face in their friend’s mess of blonde curls. Bebe squeezed them back and they allowed the tears to spill freely down their cheeks and stain Bebe’s shirt. Wendy hadn’t realised just how worried they’d been about Bebe until her arms were locked around them. Wendy basked in the familiar warmth of Bebe’s embrace.

“Oh, my God, Wends!” Bebe exclaimed once they pulled back, still tightly gripping each other’s arms, their eyes bugging. “You’re alive! I can’t believe it!”

Bebe’s hair was wild, sticking out in every direction like she’d stuck her finger in an electrical socket. Her tea-coloured eyes were cracked with red and lined with dark shadows. With her haggard face, usually pristine with a screen of sleek make-up, and the way she shook in Wendy’s arms Wendy would guess she hadn’t slept in days.

“I know!” Wendy yelled back, their volume immediately going up to match Bebe’s, something that had always gotten them in trouble at the library. “I’ve been so worried. All the girls are gone and I-“

“Holy shit, Wends? Is that you?”

Wendy’s head snapped back to look up at the sudden voice and saw Nichole Daniels’ head peering out of the second storey window. She blinked her big, brown eyes down at them in surprise.

“It is you! Oh, my gosh,” she gasped, her gaze snapping about the group gathered on Bebe’s doorstep. “And Kyle and Stan! You’re all here!”

Her smile was blinding as she waved vigorously down at them. Wendy had barely opened their mouth to call back to her when more bodies were crowding around Nichole at the window.

“Wends? They’re alive?”

“Oh, thank God!”

“Holy shit!”

The girls all scrambled around the window, shoving each other aside to look. Wendy was dizzy with relief as they tried to identify each bouncing figure but Bebe’s voice snapped through the bubble of confusion that was slowly beginning to swallow them all.

“Okay, enough. Let’s all just get inside, okay? I don’t like keeping the door open.” Her eyes darted nervously up and down the street and Wendy had to agree with her.

They all huddled inside, Bebe slamming the door behind them. Her house looked messy but nowhere near the degree of the other homes Wendy had seen. No blood painted her walls, but more importantly, no zombies appeared to be lurking behind any corners.

Wendy watched Bebe do up every lock and chain on the front door, her fingers quivering and fumbling as she did. When she turned around Wendy saw that look of bone-tired exhaustion on Bebe’s face that they felt in their own body. It was the kind of fatigue that no amount of sleep could erase, the kind brought on by more than just physical exertion.

As Bebe approached them in the centre of the living room she gave them a brittle smile. “It’s great to see you guys,” she said and drew Stan and Kyle into a hug.

The boys responded in kind and Wendy looked at Bebe’s face squished between their shoulders, her cracked lips turned up softly. It was a nice, sweet moment, broken only by the pounding of feet down the stairs.

A second later the girls poured into the living room, each gasping and yelling as they swarmed the new-comers. Nichole threw herself with such force at Kyle that, despite her small stature, she almost toppled him over. He had to stagger to catch her but he was laughing as he righted the both of them. Rebecca Tucker, better known as Red to anyone who didn’t want their head ripped off, punched Stan in the arm and immediately asked him if he had any booze. Stan cast a discreet look at Kyle, who was still distracted with Nichole, and drew a silver flask out of the inside pocket of his jacket. Red wasted no time in unscrewing the cap and tossing her head back. Annie Knitts clutched at Wendy’s arm, her eyes round with unbridled joy. She quickly hugged them before bouncing over to the boys, her arms already open for more hugs. Wendy was just about to follow her into the little crowd when a squeak sounded from the staircase and they turned around.

At the foot of the stairs, watching the joyful reunions unfold with distant, green eyes was Heidi Turner. She hovered at the edge of the room, her face difficult to read. Her feet shuffled forward as though she wanted to join the girls in their lively greeting but her mouth was pressed into a firm line and a slight frown creased her brow. It took her a few seconds before she noticed Wendy staring but once she did their eyes locked the frown smoothed out. Her lips parted in a light gasp.

“Wends,” she said, her voice velvety soft, and finally came forward. “I almost didn’t believe it when I heard all the screaming, but-“ she broke off and smiled, her eyes darting from Wendy’s face to stare somewhere at their throat, “-I’m glad.”

Wendy scratched at their chin, unsure if they should wrap Heidi up in a hug or not. “Er, yeah, well, we’re all here.” They stepped back to reveal the boys, who had also noticed Heidi’s entrance.

When Heidi and Kyle saw each other Wendy felt the charge shock the air between them. Both went still as their eyes burrowed into the other. Wendy stood to the side, any and all focus Heidi had given them instantly melted away.

“Kyle,” she whispered, his name heavy as it fell from her tongue. “You’re here.”

Kyle’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “So are you. Uh, hi.”

The silence that followed was only a few seconds long but the thickness in the room was stifling. It was only cut short thanks to Stan, who slung an arm around Kyle and barked out a forced laugh.

“And me,” he added with a grin that was almost a snarl. Kyle stared at him as though he’d sprouted a third eye but Stan kept him locked in place. Wendy resisted the urge to pinch their nose; just looking at him was exhausting. “We’re all together! Isn’t it great?”

Even though he was an idiot Wendy sympathised with him. Ever since the dramatic fallout of Heidi’s relationship with Cartman, she and Kyle had been…tense around each other, to say the least. Wendy couldn’t recall the last time the two of them had been in a room together and it hadn’t ended badly.

There seemed to exist an irresistible magnetic pull between them that had lead to several attempts at a relationship but every time the past blew apart any hope of the two coming together as a couple. Each time appeared to hurt more than the last, which just let the all the painful memories of their childhood fester and grow. Wendy saw a great tenderness between Kyle and Heidi, but beneath those soft looks they reserved for each other, a cold bitterness was buried not too deep underneath. Kyle, especially, looked to be in pain whenever Heidi was near him.

So, Wendy could completely understand where Stan was coming from, wanting to protect Kyle and maybe have some of that tender softness directed at him. Wendy knew because they felt the same way with Heidi.

“Is Token with you?” Nichole asked, still clutching Kyle’s arm. “Is he with you?”

Kyle shook his head, his expression apologetic. “Sorry, Nic, we haven’t seen him.”

“We have Craig, though,” Stan piped up, directing this at Red. “Tricia too.”

Red finally seemed to lose interest in Stan’s flask at the mention of her cousins. “Really? Where are they?”

“Tricia’s back at Denkins’ farm with Butters and Kenny’s sister,” Stan replied. “Craig’s somewhere in town with Tweek and Kenny.”

“We haven’t seen anyone else,” Kyle added. “You guys are the only other living people we’ve come across.”

“What in the Hell are you doing here anyway?” Bebe demanded, staring at the three of them disapprovingly. “Don’t you know how dangerous it is in town?”

“We’re gathering supplies,” Wendy said, not backing down under Bebe’s leer. “And, you know, looking for you guys.”

“And now we found you,” Stan smiled, looking the girls over like a well-earned reward at the end of a boss fight. “So now we can get the fuck out of here, high-tail it back to the barn, make some smores and chill out.”

“Are you crazy?” Bebe burst out. Wendy started at the harsh tone of her voice. She was glaring at Stan, her messy hair seeming to stand on end around her head. “We can’t go out there. We’ll be killed before we even make it half-way to the farm.”

“No, it’s cool,” Stan rushed to reassure her. “We’ve got my dad’s truck. I’m sure we could fit everyone in the back-“

“We’re not leaving,” Bebe commanded, her tone dropping low and serious. “And that’s final.”

“Bebe, come on,” Wendy sighed, their nerves finally beginning to snap. “Think logically. You can’t stay here forever.”

Something shifted in Bebe’s eyes, the lively brown filming over and turning hard. She turned that frosty stare on Wendy, her lip wobbling as she spoke.

“What else is there? Go out there like Lola and Esther did yesterday and never come back?” Though no tears sprang to her eyes Wendy could see the pain there, burrowing beneath that icy surface. “I don’t think so. We stay here, we stay safe. That’s it.”

The girls all turned their heads to the ground, sorrow written plainly on their faces. Wendy swallowed, thinking of Lola and Esther and their smiling faces. Who knew what had happened to them. Clearly, Bebe had a grim theory, and though they didn’t want to admit it, even to themself, Wendy thought she was probably right.

“I was actually wondering,” Kyle began after the heavy silence sat for half a minute, “how you all wound up here? How did you find each other?”

Wendy caught the covert look that passed between the girls and wondered at it. Actually, now that Kyle brought it up they were curious to hear the answer. They certainly hadn’t expected to find such a large group all hiding together.

“Well,” Nichole murmured, scratching at her cheek, “we were actually all together, here, when it started.”

“Really?” Wendy blinked. “Why?”

Again the girls all shared a look and Wendy could safely say they were getting a little irritated by it. They knew that look well, mainly because they had partaken in many such looks with the girls. It was a look that said, ‘we all know something but they don’t, what do we do about it?’ Whole conversations could be had within the twitch of a lip or curve of a brow, and Wendy was feeling very left out of the in-depth discussion the girls were currently having.

“We were…” Red trailed off, coughing into her fist.

“You were _what?”_ Wendy demanded.

“We were having a slumber party,” Heidi sighed and the girls all flinched.

Wendy blinked, their mind brought to an abrupt stop. Then they really looked at the room and saw the snacks still laid out on the coffee table, the make-up bags left on the couch, the stack of Reece Witherspoon DVD’s piled up next to the T.V. When they turned back to Bebe they noticed she was wearing pyjama bottoms and the truth suddenly became clear.

“You…without me?” Wendy’s voice came out far softer than they intended.

“Oh, geez,” they heard Stan say before a quick bolt of betrayal blocked everything out.

“You had a slumber party and you didn’t invite me?” Wendy burst out, directing their tirade at Bebe, who at least had the decency to look sheepish. “What the hell?”

“Wends,” Bebe started, holding out defensive hands, “it wasn’t like that. I just-“

“You just invited everyone in our social circle to hang out except me,” Wendy snapped. They could feel the sharp sting of their fingernails digging into the skin of their palms and all they wanted to do was something catty like- oh hell, like slap Bebe or pull her hair, or something. “I can’t believe you’d do something so..! so..! _Regina George_.”

Bebe gasped. “You take that back!”

“Like hell I will, _Barbara_.”

Red flooded Bebe’s cheeks and a sharp stab of satisfaction hit Wendy in the chest at the snickers that floated up from the group.

“Heh, your name’s ‘Barbara’?” Stan snorted into his fist but at the murderous glare Bebe threw at him he wiped the smirk off his face and quickly cast his eyes to the floor.

“You know what? I think it’s time for you guys to get the fuck out of my house,” Bebe yelled, aiming a snarl at Wendy.

“W-What?” Stan stammered, blinking between the two of them. “You can’t be serious-“

“Oh, I am,” Bebe retorted, her hair almost crackling with ire like an angry storm cloud. “Anyone who wants to join you is welcome to do so but I for one like not getting eaten by fucking zombies, so thanks for stopping by, don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”

And with that she fell back into the plush armchair, crossed her arms over her chest and said no more.

“Bebe, come on,” Kyle tried but she just turned her nose up and ignored him.

Wendy simmered with anger but they cast their eyes about the girls. Nichole was instantly at Bebe’s side, stroking her shoulder and whispering things in her ear that Wendy couldn’t make out. When they caught Nichole’s eye she just gave them an apologetic look before turning her gaze back to Bebe. Red leaned against the wall, her hands deep in the pockets of her sweatpants, refusing to meet Wendy’s gaze. Annie cowered under Wendy’s gaze and took a small step towards Bebe.

Wendy should have expected it but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. They’d always known that Bebe was preferred by basically everyone over them. Bebe, who had always been just a little bit prettier, who’s clothes were just a little bit nicer, who had just a few more streaks on Snapchat, and a few more signatures in her yearbook. They knew the girls would follow Bebe anywhere but to see it so blatantly displayed right in front of them was almost too much for Wendy.

Just when Wendy thought they might do something embarrassing, like scream or cry, Heidi stepped to their side.

“You guys, I think Wends is right,” Heidi said, her voice shaking at all the eyes now suddenly turned her way. “Food really is gonna run out and we can’t stay here-“

“Oh, shut up, Heidi,” Bebe hissed, rolling her eyes. “Just go with them already. I’d watch your back though.” She said this to the rest of them, now stood by the door. “I wouldn’t trust her not to trip you to save her own skin.” She gave Kyle a nasty smile. “You know what she’s like, right, Kyle?”

Kyle’s lips thinned and Heidi flinched, like Bebe had slapped her across the face. Wendy wanted to wrap their arm around her but they settled on just grasping her shoulder. Heidi leaned slightly into the touch, giving Wendy resolve.

They slung their backpack off their shoulder and pulled out one of the bulky walkie-talkies. They set it down on the coffee table and looked to Bebe.

“In case you change your mind, or if you ever need help, we’ll be there. No matter what. Let’s go you guys,” Wendy said, turning their eyes away from Bebe when they found nothing but that stubborn wall in her expression. They went for the door but cast one final look about at the girls, their friends. “I hope I see you guys again. Good luck.”

They turned their back then, opening the door for Heidi and slinking out into the ominous street.       

 

When Butters finally ran back to the campfire with the handgun it was to find Tricia and Karen attempting to lasso the undead bull’s horns. He almost dropped the gun from the loud gasp he let out.

“What in heck are you two doin’?” he demanded, trying his best to channel Kyle or Wends and put some authority into his voice.

Karen and Tricia turned as one, having the good graces to at least look a little sheepish as they stood before the moaning cow, the lasso hanging from Tricia’s hands.

She hid the lasso behind her back. “Nothing.”

Butters narrowed his eyes and marched over to Tricia, doing all he could to ignore the horrid stench of the bull. He held out his hand and cleared his throat.

“Now you hand that rope over right now,” he said.

Tricia stared at his out-stretched hand sullenly but gave him the lasso without argument. Butters tossed the rope aside and wagged a finger under Tricia’s nose.

“Don’t you know you’re not supposed to be playin’ with zombies? What would Craig say if he came back and you’d gotten one of your fingers nibbled off by Mr Cow here?” Butters gestured to the bull, which took one lumbering step toward them with a low warble.

The look Tricia gave him made Butters concerned she might decide to nibble his finger and he swiftly withdrew it.                                                    

“I don’t know,” she pouted, crossing her arms. “He’d probably think it was funny.”

“No, he would _not_ ,” Butters said and turned his attention off of her and towards their very slow threat. “Now you girls go sit in the barn while I take care of this.”

“Aww.“ Karen looked sadly at the ground before Tricia plopped down next to her on the log as though it were a comfy sofa.

“No way,” Tricia said. “I wanna see.”

“Nuh uh.” Butters shook his head. “You shouldn’t see this icky stuff.”

“Well, we’re not moving.” Tricia emphasised this by throwing her arm around Karen’s shoulders. The two girls looked at Butters expectantly. “Now come on, I wanna see its brains explode.”

Butters’ stomach turned at her words but he sighed and turned from them. His resolve was already quite weak and just one look at Tricia’s cool eyes, every bit as tough and flinty as her brother’s, told Butters this was one battle he wasn’t going to win.

So he looked to the bull instead and cocked the gun, just like Kenny had taught him. He held the pistol up, his hands shaking obviously. The bull stared back at him with its blank, milky eyes, slack, yawning mouth, and Butters shuddered. He loosed a breath, trying to dispel the shakes plaguing his body and squeezed his eyes shut before pulling the trigger.

The gun jumped in his hands as the loud blast of the shot cracked the air open. Butters jolted at the sound, almost dropping the gun and tripping over his own two feet. His eyes flew open and he blinked dumbly at the sight of the cow, whose brains were very much still (mostly) in its head.

“You missed,” Tricia called out helpfully from the log and Butters huffed an annoyed grunt.

“I know that! Hang on, geez.”

He held the gun up again and didn’t give himself time to get scared. He just fired off in the vague direction of the cow, this time barely grazing it’s shoulder.

“That was a little closer,” Karen chirped and Butters sighed.

His shoulders drooped as he stared at the gun. This would be harder than he thought.

 

Kyle didn’t know what to feel. On the one hand, they’d succeeded in their mission to find survivors, and that was great! But on the other hand, those survivors were on strike against Wendyl and help, it seemed. The only person who was sane enough to come with them was Heidi and that had Kyle feeling a certain kind of way.

He glanced to her, only to find her vibrant green eyes already pinned on him. They both cut their gazes away, Kyle looking to the ground and gripping the strap of his duffel bag tight in his fist.

He thought back to the last time he’d seen Heidi, the slam of her locker in his face and the distant look in her eyes as she’d told him to go away. He remembered standing alone in the hallway until Stan had come bouncing over to him, talking about a camping trip. He looked to Stan now, who was by his side, acting as a barrier between him and Heidi. Stan looked up and caught his eye but instead of glancing away he gave Kyle a reassuring smile.

He bumped his knuckles against Kyle’s hand and Kyle smiled weakly in return.

“It’s so eerie,” Wendyl remarked, breaking the shroud of silence that had settled over them since they’d left Bebe’s house.

“I know what you mean,” Stan answered with a shiver. “It’s like a ghost town out here.”

They’d been sticking to moving through the back alleys of the streets, trying to stay off main roads and avoid any wandering zombies as much as possible. The town Kyle had grown up in all his life was deserted, as though the residents had partaken in a mass exodus, or the rapture had suddenly come for them. The roads were empty of life, the houses and buildings quiet from the inside. The only movement came from the lumbering forms dragging themselves around and moaning, and Kyle didn’t particularly care for them.

“That’s what I mean though,” Wendyl pressed. “Shouldn’t there be _more_ of them? Like, where are they?”

 “They’re dead,” Heidi answered plainly and Stan rolled his eyes.

“Uh, _yeah_ , no shit.”

The look she aimed at Stan said _watch it, buddy_. “No, I mean they’re _dead_ -dead. Someone’s been out here killing them all.”

This got Kyle to stop in his tracks. “What?”

“We heard the gunshots every night,” Heidi said, frowning at the ground. “At first we thought it was people fighting but there were never any screams, just bullets. I looked out the top floor once and saw some bodies in the street. Someone’s out here, killing them.”

Before Kyle could even form a response his mind was running wild with possibilities. Was it someone they knew? Maybe it was his mom. She was definitely the type to take the fight to them. And if his mom was out there and kicking maybe she had Ike with her too. He doubted she’d let Ike out of her sight for a second in this hell scape.

A gun, though. Where would his mother, an out-spoken anti-gun lobbyist, get her hands on a gun?

They were passing by the butcher shop, Kyle caught up in his own thoughts and not paying attention to anything else other than speculations of his family, when a shrill scream pierced the air. His heart was instantly in his mouth as he spun around just in time to see rotted arms break through the shop window and grab at Heidi’s hair. Her hands flew up to the gnarled fingers buried in her brown locks, trying to peel them free but it held onto her with a vice-like grip. He heard Stan shout as he revved up his chainsaw, hefting it up to saw through the mottled arm-

But Wendyl beat him to it. With a vicious yell they clubbed their selfie stick down on the zombies arm with enough force to crack the bone in half. The creature’s grip went slack and Heidi ducked out of its grasp, its hand now hanging limply from its wrist. The dead eyes and yawning mouth stared out at them from the hole in the glass, an unsettling groan spilling from its split and bloody lips. Already Kyle could see more shuffling up behind it, pushing at the shattered glass and attempting to climb through.

He realised, as they all took off down the street, that they were hiding. Whatever force was out there destroying them, they knew about it and they were scared. His suspicions proved true as more and more packs of the undead began spilling out of seemingly-empty buildings at the sound of their commotion. They were smart enough to know to hide. Smart enough to understand threats and self-preservation. If they retained those instincts and knowledge then there was no proving what else they recalled. All Kyle knew was that they weren’t the (pardon the pun) brainless creatures he had mistaken them for. And that made him very scared.

“They’re blocking the street!” Stan yelled and Kyle saw he was right.

Despite their slow movements they’d managed to flood the streets almost instantly. Already large crowds of them were swarming the roads ahead of them, the promise of death in their empty eyes.

“Shit,” he cursed, already hefting his chainsaw higher.

He felt Wendyl’s hand on his sleeve before he heard them. They tugged at his arm, steering him around.

“This way!” they urged, guiding the rest of them down a side alley.

Kyle didn’t think, just followed Wendyl and the others down the narrow valley, their thundering footsteps pounding the pavement beneath their shoes. They weren’t more than a few steps into the alley when Kyle saw the pack of zombies waiting for them at the other end. They all screeched to a stop, swinging around as one to run back but their exit was already cut off by more zombies spilling in to follow them.

“Shit!” he hissed again, huddling back against Stan.

His eyes darted from side to side, analysing their situation and desperately searching for a way out, but finding none. The walls on either side of them were high and flat, with no fire escapes to be seen, and with zombies closing in on either end they’d effectively cornered themselves. With Kyle seeing no way out around, above, or below their enemies he decided they’d have to go through them and revved his chainsaw again, the loud saw of the blades shredding through the air.

“Square up!” he ordered, flattening his back to Stan’s as he’d done before. “Don’t give in!”

“Yeah!” Wendyl shouted as well, hoisting their selfie stick over their shoulder. “We can do this!”

Kyle heard Stan cock his shotgun and saw Heidi pull a slingshot of all things out of her pocket and braced himself. He stared down the on-coming tide of monsters with a single thought running rampant through his head: I will not be beaten.

When he’d seen that first zombie stumble out of the woods while he was taking a leak he’d made a promise to himself that he would not go quietly into that good night. If he was to go down it would be swinging. Just like his mom would.

So he gritted his teeth and hauled his chainsaw up as the first one staggered towards him with its decaying arms stretched out to him-

And watched its head explode like a ripe watermelon.

The gasp that ripped through Kyle as the blackish blood spattered over his safety goggles wracked his whole body. For a wild second he thought Stan had turned around and shot the zombie but Stan was still firmly pressed against his back. He didn’t have time to collect his scattered thoughts before another shot cracked through the air, hitting a second zombie straight through the head. It’s greyish brains splattered against the wall and its body collapsed in a limp heap on the ground beside the other. More shots rang out in quick succession, all finding their marks and felling zombies by the handful.

Above him a shadow flitted across the rooftop. A _grito_ filled the alley, so loud and thunderous it shook the walls.

Kyle followed the source of the sound, tipping his head back to see a figure racing along the lip of an encasing buildings. They were fast, nimbly dancing across a storm drain and leaping across the chasm to land on the other side. Two pistols were held in their hands, jolting in their grip as they fired away on both sides of the approaching hordes. For a moment he was reminded of Kenny, perched across the street and firing with his sniper, and wondered if his friend had come to save them again. But then a cloud passed over the sun, turning the blank silhouette into a person and Kyle’s heart soared.

_“Hijos de la chingada!_ You scram if you don’t wanna bullet through your skulls!” a voice Kyle had come to know well yelled.

Davíd Rodriguez, like something out of a dream, an avenging, Mexican angel, snarled down at the encroaching zombies. His pistols, cocked and ready, gleamed in the daylight.

“You want some more?” he challenged, aiming one down at them. “’Cause I’ll give you more, _putas!”_

His scathing words, the guns in his hands, and the piles of unmoving bodies at their feet seemed to give the zombies pause. Kyle didn’t lower his chainsaw an inch until Davíd fired a few more shots and the zombies scattered, lurching away and fleeing the alley, stumbling and tripping over themselves in their scramble to get away. And just as soon as they’d been trapped they were now free.

The adrenaline instantly drained from Kyle’s system and his arms fell, dangling at his sides like stagnant blocks of lead, the chainsaw still gently whirring in his grasp. He killed the engine, gasping as his body wound down from the extreme high it had risen to. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t. Dead.

Davíd slid down the drain pipe like a fireman and landed with an audible clack as his pointed boots contacted the ground. He swept a hand through his dark, spiky hair and grinned that wide, cheesy grin that was so _Davíd_ it had Kyle dropping his chainsaw and surging towards him before he even knew what he was doing.

“Holy _fuck!_ Davíd!” Kyle swept his arms around him, lifting Davíd clean off his feet.

He didn’t care that he looked ridiculous; seeing the face of his friend—a rare sight in this desolate dumpster of a town—jubilance that he couldn’t put into words filled him so suddenly and completely he felt ready to burst. He squeezed Davíd tight enough to make him wheeze and chuckle. It was only when Kyle set him back down on his feet that Davíd reached up to clap his hands over Kyle’s face and squish his cheeks together.

“Good to see you too, man. Even if you _were_ stupid enough to almost get yourself killed.”

He shook Kyle’s head in his hands and Kyle grunted, pushing his hands away. His cheeks smarted but he couldn’t stop grinning.

Davíd looked like he was trying to get the starring role in the new Rambo film. His tank top, pants, and combat boots were scuffed up and spattered with drops of blood. A red bandana was tied across his forehead, his hair sticking about in odd directions. His duel pistols were stuffed into holsters slung about his hips, the silver of the guns twinkling amidst the brown leather. The pale scar on his bicep stood out against his brown skin, the circular shape of where the bullet had entered still stark and visible, even after all these years.

“What the hell, man?” Kyle exclaimed, holding Davíd at arm’s length and looking him over. “Where did you come from? Where have you been? Where did you get those _guns?”_

“A protein-heavy diet and fifty curls a night,” Davíd quipped, flexing a bicep.

Kyle scoffed and slapped Davíd’s shoulder. They both laughed, falling into that easy rhythm they’d always had. Just seeing Davíd had their whole terrible situation pushed to the back of Kyle’s mind. He was just so relieved.

“Uh, a- _hem_.”

They both turned to see Stan, Wendyl, and Heidi all staring at them, Stan at the front and frowning.

“Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?” Stan said.

“You messed up my bust is what’s going on,” Davíd retorted, a spark of ire flashing in his eyes. “Could you have made yourselves bigger targets? Really?”

“Your _bust?”_ Wendyl said at the same time Heidi let out a little gasp.

“It’s you,” she said. “ _You’re_ the one we’ve been hearing. Killing the zombies.”

Davíd’s hands went to his hips, just above his pistols. “That’s right. And I’m not stopping ‘til every one of them is rotting in Hell where they belong.”

Kyle thought all he needed was the sun to shine on him just right and maybe some dramatic music playing in the background.

“Sweet,” was what he said.

Davíd nodded over his shoulder. “Now come on, we gotta bounce.”

 

“I can do this.”

Butters loosed a long breath, his puffed out cheeks slowly deflating. He had his arms out ramrod straight, the barrel of the gun pressed to the cow’s forehead. The cow swayed on its legs as though its body was too heavy to hold up without splintering its knees. It kept groaning, staring into Butters’ good eye with the one eye left in its socket.

Maybe it was strange but Butters almost felt a kinship with this one-eyed cow. He told himself to stop being a sissy and man up. His palms were clammy with sweat and his arms shook terribly as he tried to hold the gun steady in his hands. All he had to do was squeeze the trigger. That was it. Kenny had probably shot dozens of zombies when he’d helped rescue them that night at Tweek’s house. Heck, even _Karen_ had shot down a few with her bow. It was right there in front of him. He just needed to…

But he couldn’t.

“I can’t do it,” Butters confessed, dropping his arms like limp noodles to his sides.

“Sure, you can!” Karen called out encouragingly and he just stared at the ground with shame.

“Yeah, come on, Butters,” Tricia said and Butters glanced over at her. She was lounging lazily against the log, staring at the whole affair with open boredom. “It’s right there, just blow its brains out.”

“I _can’t_ ,” Butters insisted, mashing his knuckles together. He couldn’t look at the cow or the girls, he had nowhere to stare but at the space of ground between his boots.

“Why not?” Tricia pressed. “It’s just a dumb zombie.”

Butters squeezed his eyes shut. “I know that. But even if he is a no-good zombie, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have feelings, right? The poor, little fella probably doesn’t even know what he’s doing. How can I just kill him? I-“

At some point while he was talking Tricia must’ve dragged herself to her feet and walked up to him. She was suddenly at his side and swiping the gun out of his hands. Before Butters could even process what was happening Tricia raised the gun and pulled the trigger with all the nonchalance of swatting a fly.

The shot was exceptionally loud and made Butters jump. The bullet cleaved straight through the cows head, blasting the left side of its face to pulp. If fell without a noise, landing in a heavy heap on the ground. Butters stared at it, the sound of the gun still rattling through him, making his bones quiver and his heart pound so hard he thought it might burst in his chest.

Tricia pressed the gun back into his hand, her expression bland. “There. You’re welcome.”

And then she stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jacket and began strolling back to the barn, murmuring to Stripe as she went. Butters stared after her, his knees still knocking together and feeling like he was seconds away from passing out.

Karen, still perched on the log, looked back and forth between them, a frown creasing her little brow. Her bright gaze finally settled on him and she gave him a warm smile before digging around inside Kenny’s old, orange parka. She pulled out a little coloured packet and held it out towards him.

“Wanna gummy bear?” she chirped and Butters smiled at her gratefully.

He managed the short walk to the log without his legs buckling and settled down on the log beside her. He’d always had a soft spot for the youngest McCormick, not minding at all when Kenny would bring her to their hang-outs. He accepted a gummy bear and popped it in his mouth, ruffling her hair. She gave him a big toothy grin back.

Feeling a little lighter Butters turned back to the large corpse. Flies were already swarming it and it smelt even worse than before, if that was even possible. It was going to be a bitch to get rid of. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just know I will take any and every opportunity to kill Kenny. What way should Kenny die next? Comment down below! :D

**Author's Note:**

> I currently have quite a bit written out and will try to update regularly but we shall see! Hope you enjoy!


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